Defiant
by Turrasta
Summary: Halo AU/X-over.  Humanity's first contact with extra-terrestrial intelligence goes poorly for all around...
1. Contact

This is very much an AU of canon Halo, with the UNSC being significantly more technologically adept. Nothing crazy, mind, but Halo is set 500 years in the future, yet their technology is, in some cases, worse than modern equivalents. I hope to rectify that with this story. Enjoy, and please leave me some feedback.

****

March 3rd, 2525  
Marathon-class Cruiser Defiant Warrior  
13.2 light-years beyond the Eastern Fringe

When people thought of space, they thought of the darkness, of the stars, the cold and the unliveable environment the vacuum created. What they didn't think of was the loneliness a man could feel, millions of miles from nowhere with nothing but blank grey walls and distant pinpricks of light to look at.

Despite the fact that the Marathon-Class Cruiser Defiant Warrior was fully manned, Engineer David Carter couldn't help but feel a little lonely. He had been transferred over from the now-decommissioned Caballero-Class Destroyer Darkest Before Dawn to the Warrior three months ago, one week before this deep-space patrol along the Eastern Fringe had started.

A posting aboard any Marathon Cruiser was highly sought after, and Carter had been more than a little prideful that he had been chosen among just a few candidates over nearly ten thousand other people. The Warrior, though, was a legend even among the monsters of space that the other ships of her class were.

Commissioned four years ago as one of the first Marathons ever built, the Warrior was the sole survivor of two of the fiercest conflicts between the United Nations Defence Force and the by-comparison puny Insurrectionist Navy. Both times the Warrior had been caught off-guard and brutally beaten by numerically superior forces far from any real help.

Those two battles alone had cost the UNSCDF thirty-two ships, including one other Marathon Cruiser and seven destroyers. The Warrior had been assumed lost with all hands in the aftermath of both conflicts, but had turned up at Reach two weeks after the first conflict with more than three-quarters of its crew intact.

The second time it had been nearly four months before the Warrior was seen again, this time with barely 100 crew members still alive, its sub-light drives gutted and most of its armour useless, irradiated metal.

And now here she was, the most respected warship in the Navy, travelling along at a modest thirteen-thousand kilometres per minute, seventeen light years from the nearest colony, looking for Lord-knows-what in a sector of space known for its abundance of uninhabitable worlds.

And David Carter was the loneliest man aboard, because he had no time for friends. As an Engineer, he was always needed, the only time he got off work he spent sleeping or eating. He had acquaintances, other Engineers mostly, but had no time to form any real relationships with anyone.

"Hey, Carter!," a familiar voice rang through the corridors, and Carter looked up from his PDA, his attention zeroing in on an oversized man with a goofy grin on his face. Private Andrew Smart was the one person who made a real effort to get to know Carter, and although he wouldn't go so far as to call the man a friend, Carter had to admit that Smart was probably the closest thing he had to one aboard the Warrior.

"Hey," Carter said quietly, turning back to his PDA and frowning at his e-mails. Junk mail, all of it.

"What are you up to, bro?," Smart said, skidding to a stop beside the much smaller man. Smart was tall, muscle-bound and overly friendly with everyone, the complete opposite of Carter, who was short, skinny and shy.

"Just checking my e-mails before I head down to Bravo-C Armoury to run some diagnostics on the holo-displays there," Carter replied, still not looking up from his PDA.

"Sweet," Smart said, in a voice that clearly said it was anything but. "Guess what?"

"What?," Carter said, sighing a little to himself.

"I know why we're here," Smart said, grinning brightly and showing off his pearly-whites.

Intrigued now, Carter looked up. "What do you mean?"

"The patrol, bro. The whole reason we've been out here floating around for the past three months," Smart said enthusiastically. There was silence for a long time after that statement, and Carter began getting frustrated.

"Well?"

"Well, what?," Smart replied, looking confused.

"Are you going to tell me why we're here, or not?," Carter ground out, shaking his head in annoyance.

"Oh, yeah. That," Smart grinned again. "We're here 'cos of ONI, man. I heard Tony in Logistics saying there were some weird results from the last group of probes sent out here. And Jen, from the Flight Deck, said there was a Spook on the bridge last time she was up there."

Carter sighed again, finally exiting his e-mails and bringing up a map of the level they were on. The problem with working aboard a cruiser was they were just so damn big, it was easy to get lost without a map.

"Why would a Spook commission a capital ship for any mission?," he replied. "A Stealth Frigate is more likely, maybe even a destroyer, but a cruiser? Come on, man."

"I'm just telling you what I heard," Smart answered. "Who knows, maybe there are nasty aliens out here, and the big, bad Spook didn't feel safe in anything else!"

As Smart laughed at his lame joke, and Carter smiled politely, he couldn't help but think that maybe there was some truth in what the other man said. No one knew anything about this mission, and that just reeked of ONI.

OOOOO

Captain Thaddeus Davian was a man known for his short temper and brilliant tactics. Standing at five-feet-eleven inches and with the build of a man who worked out constantly, Davian's dark skin reflected the harsh lighting of the Warrior's bridge dully, and his obsidian eyes keenly observed his bridge crew as they went about their business.

Although he would never admit it to anyone, not even his darling wife Carmel back home, he was more than slightly anxious in the presence of Michael Dunston, the man who stood impassively to the right and slightly behind the captains chair.

Dunston was five-foot-five, thin and wiry, and in excellent physical condition, as was required by all men and women in positions similar to his. He had been a member of the Office Of Naval Intelligence's Section One for three years before being transferred to the near-mythical Section Three two and a half years ago.

People, both enlisted personnel and civilians alike, were encouraged to believe that Section Three did not exist, and more often than not those outside of the organisation that knew for certain of its existence disappeared.

Davian had always had his suspicions, but they had been confirmed by Dunston himself when the man had come out and told him point-blank to his face in a private meeting that Section Three existed, and that it was very, very interested in a certain sector of space.

Although he had asked the hawk-nosed man several times, Davian still did not know what exactly they were out here looking for or even why the Warrior had been commissioned to look for it.

"Captain," Ensign Makeshi at Sensors and Communications called for Davian's attention. "We're receiving a transmission from our spy-sats in the Minotaur system."

"Which one is that again, ensign?," Dunston demanded, moving swiftly and gracefully towards the young woman's console.

"Uh, the one we just left, sir," Makeshi answered, her voice quavering only slightly. Although no-one other than Davian and Dunston knew exactly who Dunston was, everyone else aboard the ship that had met him had their own theories, most of which weren't far off the mark.

"What's the content of the transmission?," Davian asked.

"Unusual energy signatures flared suddenly several light-minutes out from the inner-most sat. Since then, low-level emissions have been tracked moving slowly through the system," Makeshi said.

"Captain," Dunston said, turning to face the still-seated man.

"Spin up the FTL drive, set course for the Minotaur system. Unlock safeties for the MAC and our missile pods, prep point defences, rail guns and standby shields," Davian ordered gruffly, then settled back in his chair to watch in satisfaction as his crew did their jobs with fine-tuned efficiency.

The shields to which the captain had referred was in fact and electro-magnetic field generator, which was used to defend against missile strikes by frying the internal components of said missiles. It also made an excellent deterrent for fighters, bombers and even had a somewhat limited effect on rail gun rounds and an extremely limited effect on MAC rounds.

"I hope you're not planning to do anything rash, Captain," Dunston said, returning to his spot behind the other man.

"Just being cautious. This ship and its crew are my responsibility, regardless of what you have to say on the subject," Davian replied coolly.

"Oh, of course, Captain. Do carry on," Dunston said with a sly grin. It was at that point that Thaddeus Davian decided he really didn't like Michael Dunston.

OOOOO

Although the transition to faster-than-light speeds was by no means sudden, thanks to the alert klaxons going off all around the ship, Carter still found himself unprepared for it and lost his footing as the great cruiser jumped into a Slipspace tunnel. Several unsecured items around the armoury joined him on the floor before the shuddering ceased and he was able to pick himself up.

Grumbling to himself, Carter began cleaning up the mess and set himself back to work on the malfunctioning holo-emitter. A few short minutes later, the klaxons started going off again, and Carter immediately wrapped his arms around the base of the emitter as the ship transition from Slipspace to real-space.

Micro-jumps were rarely performed unless in an emergency situation, so Carter wasn't surprised to hear the FTL Klaxon replaced with the General Quarters Klaxon moments after the shaking stopped.

Carter leapt to his feet, gathered his tools as quickly as he could, then hurried his way through the labyrinthine corridors of the vast ship on his way to the Engineering Bay to report to his station. All around him, the corridors filled up with marines, engineers, technicians and crewmen rushing to their stations.

"Yo Carter!," a hauntingly familiar voice cried out, and Carter turned to see the hulking form of Smart rushing out of the lavatory, doing up his belt buckle as he ran. "The hell's goin' on man?"

"I don't know. But we made a micro-jump, so I guess maybe we're answering a distress call or something," Carter answered breathlessly.

"Distress call? That the best you can come up with?," Smart said sceptically. "Who the hell would be out here to send a distress call?"

"Who knows? Maybe those aliens you were talking about earlier," Carter replied, before hooking a sharp left and leaving his almost-friend behind.

OOOOO

"Have you got anything yet, ensign?," Davian queried, shifting in his command chair to get a better view of ensign Makeshi's console.

"Yes, sir," the young woman answered. "It looks like orbital activity around the system's third primary."

Davian nodded thoughtfully, then turned to Dunston.

"We were last in this system less than eighteen hours ago, and there was nothing here then. There are no inhabitable planets here. Is there anything I or my crew should know?," he said in a low voice to the ONI operative. Dunston looked around the bridge, making sure no one else would hear what he had to say, then leaned in close to the captain and spoke in a low voice.

"We've been sending probes into this area of space since the late twenty-second century, as you know," Dunston began. "Most of them are able to send images and telemetry data back to us. We've never found inhabitable planets out here before, or at least no planets that a human could inhabit."

"What are you saying?," Davian whispered back, looking around conspicuously at his crew.

"The last six probes sent out here failed to return any telemetry or imagery back. Considering the highest loss rate in the past was one per every seventeen, sabotage seems to be the most likely event," Dunston replied. "So ONI commissioned a pair of Prowlers to begin a patrol out here five months ago."

"Why the hell are we here if you've already sent a patrol out? And who would be out here to sabotage the probes?"

"Please, captain, I'm getting to that," Dunston said, feeling a little frustrated. "Those Prowlers were due back six weeks after leaving. We've had no communication with them since a fortnight after they first left. It is ONI's belief, and my own as well, that those ships were most likely destroyed."

He paused a moment to glare at one of the helmsmen, who was approaching the captain's chair. The helmsman turned around and returned to his station without skipping a beat.

"Which means there is either a very serious raider problem out here that we somehow don't know about, which seems unlikely, or," Dunston shifted closer to the captain, lowering his voice even further. "Or there may be an unknown, possibly hostile civilisation inhabiting this sector."

"Aliens?," Davian said sceptically. "That seems even more unlikely."

"Perhaps," Dunston said, standing up straighter. "But this galaxy contains over four hundred billion stars. We have only charted four hundred and ninety of them so far. That is a truly miniscule number in the grand scheme of things."

Davian frowned, but nodded his head slightly to show that he understood.

"Helm, what is our ETA to the third primary?," he asked.

"We'll be in LIDAR range in thirty-eight minutes, sir," the helmsman replied quickly.

"Excellent. WEPCOM, status?"

"All missile racks are loaded with magazines, sir. All rail guns are ready to fire on demand, and the capacitors for the main gun are fully charged, with four rounds waiting to be loaded. Auto-cannons are online and ready to fire, set to auto-track, sir," the Weapons Officer replied, moving his fingers rapidly over his keyboard and checking the status of the Warrior's weapon systems even as he rattled off his report.

"Sensors, go active," Davian ordered. Going active meant that the ships full sensor capabilities would be used, constantly probing the space all around it for any signs of threat with LIDAR and radar.

"DEFCOM, status."

"Our EMFG is online and ready to be activated. Our pulse-lasers are ready to fire and set to auto-track, as are the CIWS auto-cannons and the Flak cannon batteries. Counter-missiles are in their tubes and ready to fire," the lieutenant at the Defence Command station answered. "And our ECM and ECCM systems are prepared to go active on your order, sir."

"Understood," Davian said. "Ensign Makeshi, are we getting anything more from the spy-sats?"

"Receiving telemetry now, sir," Makeshi replied, licking her lips nervously. "During our micro-jump, sat-19 detected two slip-space ruptures within just a few light-seconds of where the energy flares first appeared. Unknown ship profiles, sir."

"Lieutenant Callahan, prepare our First Contact Protocol Package," Davian ordered, sharing a look with Dunston.

"Any idea what to expect?," Davian said to the smaller man in a low voice.

Dunston shook his head. "None at all."

Davian scowled, turning to look out the view port. They were going in blind.

OOOOO

The third rock from the Minotaur sun was decidedly unimpressive. A ball of rock and frozen hydrocarbons, it was uninhabitable to all known life forms and had no large deposits of useful minerals, meaning that it was simply tagged with an alpha-numerical code and added to the navigational database of the Warrior as a local point of reference.

Unfortunately, so far as anyone could tell, worlds like this were the norm in this sector of space, and for centuries no manned expeditions were mounted out here by the UNSC or the former Colonial Government of Earth.

Harsh sunlight glinted off the surface of the barren world as the Warrior drew near, he mighty sensors sweeping every cubic inch of space all around it, detecting pieces of debris and high levels of localised radiation.

"Looks like someone was throwing nukes around out here, sir," Makeshi said. "There's a lot of debris here as well, mostly unknown materials but some traces of titanium. The sats didn't detect any more slip-space ruptures, so whoever was here is either hiding or we're looking at them."

"Understood, ensign," Davian replied. "Helm, bring us around the planet and let's see if anyone is hiding on the far side."

"Aye, sir."

"Take care, Captain, I don't like the idea of getting caught up in an alien war," Dunston said, loud enough for most of the bridge crew to hear. Davian frowned at the spook.

"I don't either, and I also don't appreciate you voicing your concerns to my crew. This job is stressful enough as it is."

"I apologise, Captain," Dunston said in such a way that told the captain that he was not in any way sincere.

"Sir!," Ensign Makeshi cried out in alarm. "Incoming!"

"Evasive manoeuvres, point defence engage at will!," Davian ordered quickly, and the cruiser slewed sharply to port. The tactical display lit up, registering two inbound missiles tracking the cruiser. Auto-cannons, PD lasers and flak cannons were engaging the inbound projectiles to no apparent effect.

The missiles impacted the surrounding EM field and passed straight through, seemingly unhindered by the defensive barrier.  
"All hands brace for impact," Davian said into his headset, sending the warning ship-wide. Seconds later, the Warrior seemed to groan as it shuddered under the impacts. The temperature on the bridge jumped almost ten degrees suddenly, before the internal sensors picked it up and the air conditioning pumped ice-cold air throughout the ship.

"Report," Davian snarled. "What the hell was that!"

"Some kind of directed energy weapon, sir," Makeshi said, consulting her sensors array. "Two contacts to starboard, bearing 319 mark 027, profiles match the unknowns our spy-sats picked up emerging from slip-space."

The Warrior shook again briefly as it was struck by more weapons fire.

"They're firing pulse lasers at us, sir," Makeshi said. "Much more powerful than ours."

"Weapons, return fire with starboard rail-guns," Davian ordered. "Helm, bring us into line for a MAC strike."

"Shouldn't we try to contact them, Captain?," Dunston queried.

"If they wanted to talk to us, they would have," Davian answered.

OOOOO

Outside, the two bulbous ships, each about the size of a destroyer, accelerated toward the much greater bulk of the Defiant Warrior, blood red flashes lighting up their hulls as pulse laser pounded the thickly armoured hide of the cruiser.

The closer of the two ships was suddenly enveloped in a glowing silver bubble as the Warriors starboard rail-gun batteries opened fire, peppering the smaller ship with foot long slivers of titanium.

The glowing bubble rippled violently as the kinetic energy of the slivers was imparted against it. The destroyer slowed it's advance, weathering the storm of projectiles as an ominous blue glob of plasma began developing on its nose, contained within a magnetic field.

It's sister kept moving at the same pace, an identical plasma discharge growing in front of it. Distant puffs of gas erupted from the massive cruiser, and for a moment the ships crew thought they had finally breached the annoyingly resilient hull.

Chemical trails streaked toward the unengaged destroyer, preceded by anti-ship missiles launched from the Warriors rapidly emptying starboard missile racks. Laser pulses stabbed out from the advancing destroyer, switching priorities from the ship to the weapons it had spawned.

A dozen warheads were shot down before the first few began impacting, rippling the destroyers shield and setting it aglow with sickly yellow light which reflected off of the ships shining purple hull.

The plasma discharged from the first ship even as this happened, moving sluggishly towards the human cruiser. Flak cannons engaged the plasma ball, followed by counter missiles set for proximity detonation.

Again, these defences had no appreciable effect , but as the plasma got closer to the Warrior, it passed through the EM field and the magnetic containment field holding the ball of plasma together lost some of its integrity, reducing the effectiveness of the plasma torpedo.

The commander of the destroyer was not well pleased by this; had it not been for the field negating a percentage of the magnetic field around the plasma, the human cruiser would probably have been crippled by the first combined plasma salvo.

As the second destroyer unleashed its own torpedo, the nose of the Warrior aligned with the near-stationary destroyer being hammered by rail-gun rounds, and a great flash erupted from the cruiser.

A multi-ton tungsten/titanium shell sped a across the distance between the cruiser and the destroyer in record time, popping the defensive shield of the ship with ease and expending the incredible kinetic force against the relatively thin hull of the destroyer.

The effects were catastrophic for the smaller ship, it's nose crumpled inwards just before something vital inside detonated, turning the destroyer into an expanding field of gas and debris.

The cruisers rail-guns immediately re-tasked themselves to engage the remaining ship, missiles and titanium slivers hammering the destroyers shield as its plasma torpedo impacted the side of the cruiser.

Another pulse laser salvo etched into the hull of the Warrior, then the destroyer opened a slip-space rupture and disappeared inside it, leaving the inbound missile salvo and rail-gun rounds to fly off harmlessly into the void.

The Defiant Warrior, victorious, moved into a holding orbit above the barren world the fight had taken place over.

OOOOO

"Damage report," Davian said, watching the destroyed hostile ships debris field slowly expanding.

"Moderate damage," Major Saldana from Damage Control replied. "We lost two rail-guns, three auto-cannons and a counter missile battery. Hull breaches on decks nineteen, twenty and twenty six, we're sealing off the affected areas now. We also lost one of the secondary power feeds to the MAC capacitor."

"Understood, do what you can," Davian said. "Med-bay, what's the status of dead and wounded?"

Doctor Reed, the Warrior's Chief Medical Officer, answered. "We have wounded flooding in from all over the ship, mostly first and second degree burns. So far my teams have found seven confirmed deaths, but we're getting reports from all over of more severely wounded crew, as well as dozens of unconfirmed KIA reports."

Davian nodded sombrely to himself. "Understood, I'll let you get back to work, it sounds like you're busy down there."

"Thank you, sir," Doctor Reed replied, then signed off from the intra-ship comm. System.

"Well, that was…bracing," Dunston said, staring at what was left of the hostile ship.

"Indeed," Davian answered. "It looks like you got your proof of an alien civilisation out here after all."

OOOOO

"Gods, did you see that?"

"Yeah, but I don't believe it. We should get the hell out of here."

Some distance from the damaged cruiser and the debris field of the destroyer, a small ship that had been under strict emissions control powered up quickly and fed it's jump drive, leaving the area swiftly, but not altogether unnoticed.


	2. Harvest

David Carter was sweating like mad as he worked on the delicate electrical lines that formed part of the damaged energy feed for the MAC capacitor. Despite the best efforts of the Warrior's internal climate control, it was still almost fifteen degrees above room temp in the areas around the plasma impacts.

He cursed as he cut himself on an exposed piece of jagged metal, withdrawing his hand and sucking on the wound.

"Hey," the engineer beside him, an older guy with streaks of grey hair, said beside him. "You hear what the guys that ran the external damage survey said?"

Carter shook his head. "I haven't moved from this spot for an hour."

"The armour and gun ports out there were all melted and fused together," the other man said, reaching for a cutting torch. "And there were a lot of holes all over, all with melted edges. Most of 'em didn't get through this old girls armour, but we'd all be dead if we were on anything else."

"Lucky, I guess," Carter replied. He put on a pair of dark goggles and heat-shielding gloves and grabbed his own torch. "Did you happen to hear anyone say who was shooting at us?"

"Nope, but I've never seen any of our weapons do anything like that," the engineer said definitively. "What's your name by the way? I'm Gary Rogers."

"David Carter," Carter answered, sticking out his hand awkwardly. Rogers took it gladly, pumping it up and down enthusiastically. "Good to meet you. Now, can we get this over with so I can get out of here and have a cold shower?"

Captain Davian paced slowly around his bridge, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"I don't like the idea of being here when more of those ships turn up, Dunston ," the captain said, turning to face the smaller man.

"What makes you think they'll be back," Dunston replied coolly. He knew full well that it was very likely more alien ships would come here, but the spook was nothing if not an antagonist.

"They'll be back, and you know it," Davian said. "We destroyed one of their ships, and something tells me they might be the type to hold a grudge."

"I agree, which is why we should recover what we can from that wreck," Dunston gestured out the view port, "and then get the hell out of here."

"You've already gotten your way, there's no need to convince me," Davian referred to the two dropships that had been sent to scout out the ruins of the alien ship and recover anything that looked like it might be useful or interesting for R&D back home.

"Lieutenant Callahan, is your tactical assessment of the battle complete yet," Davian asked his Tactical Officer, now ignoring the spook.

"Yes sir," Callahan, a fresh-faced younger man with a crooked nose, replied. "I've observed closely Ensign Makeshi's sensor data on the ships. Over the course of the fight, Hostile One's power readings were dropping quite quickly."

Hostile One was the designation given to the now destroyed ship that the dropships were picking over.

"Go on," Davian nodded.

"I'm positive that it was indicative of the strength of the defensive barrier protecting it," Callahan continued. "I also believe that even if we hadn't been able to get a clean shot with the main gun, the end result would have been the same, although it would have taken longer. We were wearing down that shield with the rail-guns pretty well."

The lieutenant paused momentarily to draw in a breath and roll his shoulders, trying to ease some of the tension there.

"As for that missile-like weapon, from what I could tell I think it was a plasma discharge of some kind, contained and controlled by a very strong magnetic field emanating from the ships firing the weapons," the ell-tee said. "Our own shield interfered with the field containing the plasma, causing loss of containment and, ultimately, loss off effectiveness of the weapon against us."

"It was still a formidable weapon, though," Dunston chipped in, listening closely to the younger man.

"Yes, sir," Callahan said. "If it weren't for the shield, I'm not certain we would have survived that many hits."

"Have you any ideas on how to counter this plasma weapon before it reaches our shield?," Davian asked.

"I've thought about that, sir," Callahan replied, scratching his nose. "We could try swapping our standard high-explosive auto-cannon shells for Disruptor shells."

Disruptor shells were the weapon of choice for disabling small or lightly armoured targets with minimal damage. They looked similar to the standard shells, but contained a small battery that detonated in a small electro-magnetic pulse on impact. Inadequately shielded targets were disabled piece by piece as shells struck close to vital components.

Cruisers like the Warrior carried only a small compliment, since they were designed for taking on capital ships that were too heavily armoured and shielded for the Disruptor shells to have any real effect on. The shells were most commonly found on destroyers and frigates.

"Will that work?," Davian pressed, wanting a definitive answer before he ordered the magazines changed.

"I don't see why it wouldn't, sir," Callahan answered. "We've seen first hand that an EM field disrupts the plasma weapons, so in theory, an EMP should do the same. There's a chance that the shells might even be effective against those shields, but I wouldn't bet my savings on us being that lucky."

"Good enough for me," the captain said, then turned to his WEPSCOM station. "Order our gunnery crews to exchange one-third of our HE magazines for Disruptors."

"In hindsight, it may have been a good idea to invest in some Disruptor torpedoes for this mission, captain," Dunston advised, smiling to himself.

"Ensign Makeshi," Davian called out, ignoring Dunston. "What about that strange energy signature our sensor picked up shortly after the battle?"

Makeshi turned to face him. "It bore some similarities to a slip-space jump, but I didn't detect any ruptures. Closer analysis revealed that it was the same energy signature our spy-sats picked up before the two slip-space ruptures, but on a significantly smaller scale, sir."

"Could it be survivors from those unknown ships that were destroyed before we got here," Davian asked.

"It seems likely, sir."

"Alright, good work ensign," Davian said, checking the ancient analogue watch on his wrist. "Alright, that's it, recall the drop-ships and plot a course for Novus."

"We can't leave yet, Captain," Dunston spoke up, stepping closer to the larger man. "Those crews have only been out there for an hour, I doubt they could have…"

He was cut off by the captain rounding on him, an angry glint in his eyes. "The longer we stay here, the greater chance that those aliens will come back and kill us all! I've got my crew to think about, you little bastard, so sit down and shut up before I have you escorted to the brig!"

Dunston, for what it was worth, was largely unfazed. "You don't have the authority to do that."

"Sergeant Hurley," Davian called to the leader of the four man security detail at the rear of the bridge, his gaze not leaving the spooks. "Arrest this man. If he resists, feel free to shoot him."

"With pleasure, sir," Hurley, not by any means a small man, stepped forward and rested a hand on Dunston's shoulder. "This way please."

"You will regret this, Captain," the smaller man vowed, before turning and leaving with two of the four Marines.

As soon as everyone was sure the ONI operative was out of earshot, a round of applause rippled briefly across the bridge, one of the helmsmen even whistled sharply.

"Okay everyone," Davian chuckled. "Back to work."

He turned to face the view port, smiling contentedly. Twenty minutes to recover the drop-ships and they could be on their way to Novus. Novus was not the nearest colony, at just over twenty six light-years away it was nine LY further away than Harvest, but unlike Harvest, Novus had a shipyard capable of taking in and repairing the Warrior, as well as dedicated military research stations.

It was just a short six day jump to Novus.

"Next stop, Novus," he murmured quietly to himself.

**UNSC Agri-world Harvest  
2 Days Later  
Agamemnon-Class Destroyer Lexington**

The Lexington groaned loudly as a chunk of armour was ripped away, the destroyer listing momentarily before the helmsmen got it under control. High Explosive anti-ship missiles streaked away from the destroyer, covering the fourteen thousand kilometres to their target in moments.

Far off in the distance, a brief pinprick of light flared brightly, and the bridge crew of the Lexington cheered as the Insurrectionist frigate was listed as destroyed in action by her tactical computer.

"Stay focussed, people," Captain Samara Buckley said above the cheers. "There are still Innie bastards out there. Weapons, get me a targeting solution for Hostile 13, co-ordinate our strike with the Galileo."

Hostile 13 was an old UNSC Dallas-class carrier, probably stolen from a mothball yard. The Innies were nothing if not resourceful. A short distance from the Lexington, her sister ship Galileo accelerated toward the carrier, point defence lasers and auto-cannons blazing away at inbound missiles and fighters.

One missile got through the cordon, detonating against the EM shield and sending a visible-spectrum ripple through the defensive barrier. Hull scorched, but otherwise unscathed, the Galileo continued forth, firing a spread of missiles out to the carrier, followed a split second later by another salvo from the Lexington.

The carrier went evasive, and Innie piloted Delta Interceptors rushed out to meet the missiles, shooting down some and purposely colliding with others in an attempt to protect their mothership.

Flak cannons onboard the carrier pulsed, throwing up a flak field around the cumbersome old ship which destroyed dozens more missiles. Thirty warheads made it past these defences; against the ancient carrier's relatively fragile armour, it was more than enough.

Explosions rippled across the 1050 metre long carrier, spewing debris, atmosphere, equipment and crew out into space. The carrier slewed to the side, secondary explosions tearing the ship apart from the inside before its reactor went critical, and an eye-wateringly bright explosion blotted out the stars.

Another cheer erupted on the Lexington, and even Captain Buckley allowed herself to smile; the fighter groups off of that carrier had been harassing the small group of civilian freighters sheltering behind the UNSC ships.

"Ma'am," a voice cried out in alarm, and Buckley zeroed in on her Sensors and Comms officer. "Distress signal from frigate Midnight Blue, their engines are down and they are being picked apart by missile fire."

"Helm, plot an intercept course for the hostiles attacking that frigate," Buckley ordered. "Weapons, firing solution for the main gun, Hostile 7."

After receiving affirmatives from her crew, Buckley returned her gaze to the tactical display. Just under an hour ago, twenty nine Innie ships had entered the system, immediately destroying three civilian freighters and a luxury liner with almost two thousand people on board.

Buckley had wanted to take her battle group, consisting of two destroyers and four frigates, out to engage the Innie fleet before it got close to the planet, but her orders had been superseded by Harvest Orbital Command and she had instead taken a defensive formation.

There was a good chance this fight would have been over before the Innies even got close to the colony as all six UNSC ships would have had clean shots with their main guns en route to the hostile fleet. Against the outdated and lightly armoured Innie ships, it would have been a massacre.

Pinned to Harvest's gravity well, they had only managed three good MAC strikes before the Innies could start hitting back.

"Solution plotted, ma'am," Weapons called out.

"Fire," Buckley ordered calmly, and watched in satisfaction as the Magnetic Accelerator launched a multi-ton slug into the side of Hostile 7, a Caballero-class destroyer that had been stripped of its own MAC.

The Innie destroyer crumpled in half as the MAC round passed clean through it, secondary explosions finishing it off as Midnight Blue limped its way back to Orbital Command, the small but well armed space station that was Harvest's only real defence aside from patrolling battle groups.

"Hostile ships are falling back," Sensors cried out. "Look at those bastards run!"

The remaining nineteen ships were pulling back to beyond effective weapons range quickly, leaving behind the three ships that had been crippled rather than destroyed outright.

"Order a regroup," Buckley told Officer McKenzie at Sensors and Comms. "They aren't done yet."

The atmosphere on the bridge sobered quickly; the battle group was still outnumbered better than three-to-one, with the frigate Midnight Blue so badly damaged it was out of the fight and two other frigates not faring much better. The two destroyers, luckily, had suffered only cosmetic damage to their armour.

"Ma'am," McKenzie said, cupping her hand to her ear to better hear the transmission coming into her earphone. "Orbital Command has five slip-space ruptures opening between us and the Insurrectionist fleet."

"Hostile reinforcements?," Buckley asked, fearing the worst.

McKenzie shook her head. "I don't think so, ma'am. Sensor readings show unknown profiles. Receiving visual now, ma'am."

Buckley nodded once, indicating that she wanted the visual put up on the holo-display. Seconds later, five three-dee renders flicker to life in the middle of the bridge.

Buckley studied them intently; three of them were a little larger than her own ship, but instead of the familiar utilitarian design they were all curves and bulges, almost an elongated tear drop shape.

The other two were much larger, at just over a kilometre and a half long. They too were shaped similarly to a tear drop when viewed from a top-down angle, but they were flatter than the other ships, not as bulbous, and a series of protrusions hung from under the bow of the ships. They looked almost like some kind of bizarre marine animal.

"What the hell are they?" Buckley said quietly to herself.

"Incoming transmission from the unknowns, ma'am," McKenzie said.

"Put it on loudspeaker."

The speakers on the bridge activated and there was a loud squeal followed by a brief hissing noise.

"Your destruction is the will of the Gods," an inhumanly deep voice growled over the speakers. "And we are their instrument."

The transmission cut out after that, and then the three destroyers accelerated toward the Innie fleet, the two cruisers advancing on Harvest itself.

"Get me a firing solution on one of those cruisers, order Galileo to co-ordinate their strike with ours," Buckley ordered. "Time on target, missiles first, then main guns."

A time on target strike was one that was timed precisely so that the slowest moving weapons - in this case, the missiles - would arrive at exactly the same time as the faster projectiles fired from the MACs.

"Ma'am, Innie fleet has engaged the newcomers," McKenzie called out. Buckley transfixed her gaze on the tactical display, watching as ship after ship was destroyed or crippled by the three newcomer destroyers.

"Jesus," she muttered even as an Innie controlled frigate flickered off of the display.

"Hostile ships in firing range in ten seconds," Weapons called.

"Fire when ready."

The Lexington and the Galileo moved swiftly in tandem, executing a manoeuvre they had done together dozens of times, both in training and in combat. Scores of missiles raced away from the two destroyers, zeroing in on one of the rapidly closing cruisers, followed a few short seconds later by the much faster hyper-accelerated slugs from the main guns.

The hostile cruiser disappeared behind a conflagration of missile detonations and a pair of mighty kinetic impacts, no longer showing up on sensors or visual scans.

"Target destroyed, acquiring new solution," Weapons confirmed. Even as the new solution was plotted for the other cruiser, the first one reappeared on sensors.

"Negative!" McKenzie all-but screamed. "Hostile ship is still active!"

"Reverse thrust, get us back!" Buckley ordered. The two UNSC destroyers back-pedalled as quickly as they'd charged in as the alien cruiser, hull aglow as the silver light from it's shields slowly receded back to their normal invisibility.

Too late.

Four glowing orbs of plasma erupted from each cruiser, six of them tracking the Galileo as the destroyers point defences madly tried to shoot them down. The plasma passed through the Galileo's EM shield, losing only a small percentage of effectiveness to the weaker shield, and all six plasma torpedoes ate into the hull of the ship, vaporising thousands of tonnes of armour in an instant, leaving behind a desiccated husk of superstructure.

The Lexington was luckier than it's sister, one of the torpedoes aimed at it overshot, the other one coring through slabs of armour and boiling away a number of missile pods.

As the Lexington accelerated back to the relative safety of Harvest, the other torpedo began to track back around, following the wounded destroyer. The Lexington's engines blazed at maximum, the torpedo slowly catching up.

As the torpedo got within just a few kilometres, the Lexington 'dove' suddenly, and the slow-tracking torpedo overshot again. This time, it switched targets and closed on one of the frigates that had ventured out to try and help the Lexington. The torpedo was almost completely unfazed by the smaller ships EM shield and tore a great gash in the side of the frigate.

For a moment, the frigate just sat there, atmosphere spewing from it's side, before something vital within the ship gave up the ghost and detonated, shearing the ship in half and leaving it to tumble into Harvest's atmosphere and burn up.

The Lexington began to close in on Orbital Command, both cruisers now ignoring the ship and having fun with the remaining frigates as they tried to slow the much larger ships down. None of them lasted more than a minute.

Orbital Command lit up, ablaze with missile fire as the stations weapons opened up. Rail-gun fire peppered the flickering shields of the cruisers and missile detonations briefly set the sickly purple hulls aglow.

Orbital Command began rotating, trying to bring it's main gun into line with one of the cruisers, a much more powerful version of the MAC found on most UNSC ships. The two cruisers circled the station like sharks, blood red lines stabbing out into the hide of the station as the two ships fired pulse lasers.

More plasma torpedoes launched out, boiling away entire sections of the station, including a third of the barrel for the main gun. Fire from the station slackened considerably, then died completely as the reactors shut down. Cruelly, the cruisers burned away what was left of the station with more torpedoes.

The Lexington slingshot over Harvest, swinging back around and heading back out into space, in the general direction of the Innie fleet. As she passed by the cruisers, pulse lasers ripped into her hide even as missiles peeled off from the destroyer and savaged the shields of the cruiser they had believed destroyed.

The protective bubble finally shattered, allowing a small number of missiles through to detonate against the ships hull, and then the Lexington was gone, moving off into the distance.

The three alien destroyers, having eliminated or driven off the Insurrectionists, began closing on the Lexington, one of them leaving a trail of atmosphere and debris behind it.

"At least we know we can hurt them," Buckley whispered, then aloud said, "Emergency jump, plot course for Novus!"

Moments from entering weapons range with the alien destroyers, the Lexington tore a hole in the fabric of space-time and disappeared into the swirling depths of slip-space.

**Unknown Location**

Just two more jumps and the little ship would be back on home turf.

The Covenant had been systematically wiping their people out for almost two years now, and even though nobody knew it, this small ship, packed with survivors from the disastrous battle with the two Covenant destroyers, was the most important ship in the galaxy.

They had proof that the aliens could be beaten. They had proof that the aliens were fighting another civilisation among the stars.

And that meant they might have finally found help…


	3. Novus

****

UNSC Colony World Novus

**March 8th, 2525**

**UNSC _Agamemnon_-class Destroyer **

**_Lexington_**

The _Lexington_ tumbled out of slip-space, spewing debris, four days after leaving Harvest. It shouldn't have taken so long to reach Novus, but with the extensive damage the destroyer had suffered, Captain Buckley hadn't wanted to take any risks.

As the helmsmen fought for control over the destroyer, the great blue and white ball that was Novus filled the view ports; they had jumped in much closer than protocol normally allowed, and fighter squadrons were swarming to their position already.

"Get me a link-up to Orbital Command, now," Buckley ordered, and a communications laser speared across space to form a connection with the much larger and more powerful station in geo-synchronous orbit above the North Pole.

"Novus Orbital Command," Buckley said quickly. "This is Captain Samara Buckley of the destroyer _Lexington_, authorisation code Sierra-Bravo-Oh-One-Oh-Nine-Delta, please confirm connection."

The speakers were silent for a long moment, then a masculine voice echoed across the bridge. "Captain Buckley, ID confirmed. This is Commander Aldus Marshall, authorisation cod Alpha-Mike-Seven-Oh-Nine-Six. Your patrol is not due back here for another month, do you have an emergency?"

"Yes!" Buckley almost shouted excitedly, before taking a deep breath and forcing herself to calm down. "Yes, Commander, we have an emergency. My battle group has been destroyed and my ship is badly damaged. Harvest has fallen to hostile forces."

"Understood," Marshall responded, sounding a little confused. "Were you able to determine the strength of the Innie fleet before leaving?"

"The Insurrectionist fleet was destroyed, Commander," Buckley said, hoping the other officer would believe what she was about to say. "Harvest fell to a hostile group of unknown ships."

There was silence over the speakers while outside, the fighter squadrons launched to intercept the Lexington started orbiting the ship slowly, the pilots probably recording the damage to the ship.

"Commander," Buckley said. "Commander, there's a chance we may have been followed here. I'm sending you a data packet containing our sensor and gun-cam records of the fight over Harvest."

"Understood, Captain," Marshall's voice returned. "You are cleared to make your way to shipyard slip six, then I want you over here to give me a report in person. Our fighters will escort you in."

As the wounded destroyer limped it's way slowly toward the massive orbital shipyards above Novus, the four fighter squadrons adopted a defensive formation around it, one of them racing ahead a few kilometres as a beacon for the Lexington to follow through the sparse mine fields.

As the ship grew nearer to the world, the tactical display began lighting up with numerous new contacts. Thirty or so civilian freighters, three destroyers, four frigates and several dozen independent weapons platforms armed with a par of rail-guns and eighteen anti-ship missiles each.

Novus' large population and the orbital shipyards were a boon in terms of planetary defences; it was the third most well-defended world on the Rim.

"Ma'am," McKenzie from Sensors said, sounding alarmed. "Slip-space rupture forming behind us."

Buckley swore; the aliens had followed them!

"Helm, bring us around, weapons charge the main gun and ready whatever missiles we have left, target the rupture," Buckley ordered, glancing at the tactical display and seeing the system defence battle group accelerating toward the rupture.

Something massive erupted from the rupture, many times the size and tonnage of the _Lexington_, and Buckley's breath caught in her throat.

"Stand-by to fire," she ordered, watching as the sensors developed an image of the inbound contact.

"Ma'am," McKenzie called out. "Sensor profile matches a _Marathon_-class cruiser!"

"Belay that order, weapons," Buckley said quickly. "Ensign, contact that ship."

"Aye ma'am," McKenzie said. "IFF transponder codes say that it's the _Defiant Warrior_. Connection established."

"_Defiant Warrior_, this is Captain Buckley of the destroyer _Lexington_, please respond," Buckley said, watching as the massive cruiser began moving toward Orbital Command.

"Apologies, Captain," a deep, masculine voice responded. "This is Captain Thaddeus Davian, I have an important message for Orbital Command."

"Ma'am," McKenzie said. "The Warrior is damaged; it looks identical to the damage we took at Harvest from those unknown ships, but not nearly as bad."

Buckley nodded, then spoke to Davian again. "Captain Davian, were you engaged by hostile unknowns with purple hulls by any chance?"

"We noticed the damage to your ship," Davian responded. "I was hoping that it was a coincidence. Where did you encounter them?"

"Harvest," Buckley said with a sigh. The connection at the other end was quiet for a long time. "They spoke to us, in English no less."

"That indicates to me that they have known about us for a long time," Davian said finally. "I'd like to meet with you if we get a chance, Captain."

"We'll have to see what we can organise," Buckley replied. "Lexington out. Helm, take us into our slip, nice and easy."

**Harvest  
Invasion Commencing**

Corporal Anthony Ellis cried out as he stumbled backward, plasma washing over the area he had just occupied. He fired the MAR-9C in his hands on reflex, the 9mm caseless armour-piercing rounds ripping the diminutive creature that had shot at him to pieces.

Ducking into cover, Ellis took in a sharp breath as he inspected his armoured chest plate. A weird pink projectile had hit him a short while ago and exploded, he'd been on the move ever since. The damage was, thankfully, minimal.

The body armour was constructed of over-lapping discs made from a titanium/carbon ceramic composite material, each disc laminated with a thin coating of ultra-high tensile carbon nanotubes.

Underneath that armour, his standard uniform was also constructed of these nanotubes. It was a highly flexible battledress that provided incredible protection, able to withstand up to four direct impacts from a rail-rifle at near point blank range without penetration, although the sheer kinetic force would probably be enough to kill the wearer.

There was a prototype in the works said to be able to withstand the same type of punishment but also with a unique underlay that dispersed kinetic energy much more efficiently.

Ellis grimaced as he ejected the spent forty five round mag, noting that he had only three left, and tried to raise the rest of his squad.

"Echo Team, this is Corporal Ellis, respond," he murmured huskily into the small mic built into the combat helmet he wore. "Anybody out there, respond."

No answer. He was on his own.

Somewhere off in the distance echoed the rumble of explosions, probably a mix of artillery and armoured vehicle warfare. Ellis was on the outskirts of a small town some thirty kilometres from the capital, sheltering behind a small boulder tucked away in a thinly wooded area.

He had been separated from the rest of his unit en route to reinforce the police in the city in what had started as a small skirmish and quickly escalated to an all out bloodbath.

As was his habit, he'd left his combat helmet unsecured to his head. When the M12 LRV he'd been riding in had been struck by some kind of glowing projectile, the vehicle had flipped over and he'd been flung clear to land hard some distance away.

When he'd come to, the Warthog was lying on it's side burning and there'd been no sign of his unit. He'd had a cut and nasty bruise on his head, but a liberal application of bio-gel and a small skin-tone bandage had soothed the pain and stopped the bleeding.

Bio-gel was the counterpart to bio-foam, with the former generally applied to less severe injuries and the latter able to quickly patch up anything from a gunshot wound to a punctured lung, but both were temporary solutions until a wounded soldier could find a corpsman, or better yet a medic or field surgeon.

Peeking out from behind his boulder, Ellis stared wide-eyed at the creature he'd just killed. It was short, around five feet tall, and had some kind of pack on it's back and what looked like a re-breather mask on it's face. Although small in stature, the thing looked stocky and powerfully built, and Ellis determined that he'd rather not get into a fight with one.

A particularly loud explosion on the far-side of the town shook Ellis out of his stupor, and he turned to face the direction it had come from. A fireball rose up above the low-set buildings, and a few seconds later the chatter of automatic rifle fire echoed between the houses and stores.

Ellis, grinning, leapt from cover and charged the forty or so metres to the nearest building, taking cover on the corner and checking the street for hostiles before moving on to the next building. He passed by an abandoned house that had had a corner torn off in an explosion of some kind, the wood still smoking, and made his way through the backyard.

He spared a moments sorrow for the three charred figures at the back of the property, an adult and two children, burned beyond recognition to the point that he had no idea of their gender. He carried on, swallowing down a lump in his throat, the distant gunfire getting closer all the time.

He couldn't have been more than a street away from the fight when the high-pitched electrical whine of somebody firing a rail-rifle reached his ears, sounding to him like sweet music.

"If whoever's shooting over there can here me," Ellis said into his mic, "hold fire to the South-East, friendly coming through."

"I hear ya soldier, holding fire to the South-East," a grizzled voice came back over the helmets small speakers. "We could use an extra rifle or two here, how many with ya?"

"Just me, Corporal Ellis," Ellis replied.

"Sergeant Johnson," the voice answered. "We got a whole truckload of those ugly mothers coming at us, so double-time it son."

Ellis sprinted the rest of the way, observing the criss-cross of tracer and rail rounds and green energy bolts and more of those pink things. He skidded to a stop behind a low stone wall and spied a fairly large black man across the way wave to him the gesture down the street.

Ellis nodded, looking down the street and observing a group of around thirty of the little aliens moving up, rarely making use of the ample cover around. Ellis leant around the corner and fired a short burst from his rifle, watching in satisfaction as a squirt of luminescent blue blood erupted from the chest of one of the yellow armoured creatures.

The alien clutched its chest and fell forward onto its face. Green plasma washed over his position from a pair of red armoured aliens, who were sensibly taking cover behind a parked car. Across the street, the rail-rifle whined again and a hyper-velocity titanium slug punched clean through the car and ripped one of the aliens in half at its thin waist, coating the other in blood and gore.

Assault rifle fire ripped a small group of the yellow ones apart, and the rest seemingly panicked, turning tail and running the other way, arms waving as high-pitched squeaks and squeals emanated from them. Any other time and Ellis would have found it comical. Now, he was just relieved.

The black man across the road waved him over and Ellis trotted the short distance, coming to a stop in the alcove of a house.

"Sergeant Avery Johnson, Bravo Team," the black man finally introduced himself, holding out a hand.

"Corporal Anthony Ellis, Echo Team," Ellis said, grasping the sergeants hand and shaking it.

"Echo?," Johnson said, sticking a chewed up cigar in his mouth. "You're a long way from your deployment, friend."

"My 'hog took a hit and I was separated from the rest of the unit just outside of town," Ellis answered the unasked question.

"Heads up, Sarge," a voice said from deeper into the building. Ellis leaned around Johnson to get a better look at the woman who had spoke; she was holding a rail-rifle with a scope attached. "Looks like they've regrouped. Got a new hostile out there, sir, looks kinda like a bird."

Johnson nodded. "Check your ammo and get ready for another fight, boys and girls."

Turning back to face Ellis and removing the chewed stub from his mouth with his thumb and index finger, he said, "You're with Bravo now, son, so get your shit together and take position."

"Yes sir," Ellis said with a nod, moving back out into the street and settling in beside two more Marines huddled behind a large skip bin. The rail-rifle whined behind him, and trail of burning air streaked overhead and took the head off of the shoulders of one of the bird aliens.

Plasma washed back at them, slagging the side of the bin and burning the walls of the house. Ellis fired a long burst down the street, managing to knock another of the yellow bastards on his ass, then jerked back into cover as pink needles swept over the bin.

The Marine beside him stood up from cover firing, then cursed as blue shields suddenly began appearing in front of the bird aliens, the armour-penetrating rounds bouncing off harmlessly or flattening against it. The Marine was a little too slow getting back into cover, and a trio of green bolts splashed against his chest.

Stumbling backwards, he screamed as the plasma heated his body armour and seared the skin on his chest. Ellis set his rifle beside him and scrambled to get his canteen open, swearing as the rest of Bravo Team fired a barrage into the street, cutting down a handful of the smaller aliens.

"Hang on, man!" Ellis said, finally getting the damn cap off of the canteen and quickly tipping water over the dully glowing armour plates. Steam rose from the downed Marines chest, the wounded man swearing uncontrollably and spouting tales of the promiscuity of the aliens mothers.

"I gotta get this armour off, you're gonna have to sit up," Ellis advised, and with a grimace and another long stream of curses, the Marine sat up, allowing Ellis to unstrap the armour. Underneath the protective sheath, the carbon nanotube uniform was scorched but otherwise unscathed.

Ellis carefully unbuttoned and peeled back the cloth, cursing in sympathy when he saw the blistered, raw skin underneath. Reaching for a tube of bio-gel, Ellis applied the soothing gel and patched up the injury with a few skin-tone bandages.

"That's the best I can do, sorry," Ellis apologised, handing over the rest of his canteen.

"It's good," the Marine said. "Feels a damn-sight better already. Kick some ass."

Ellis nodded, grabbed his rifle and turn back to look down the street. The bird aliens were advancing slowly, apparently invulnerable behind their shields, as bullets pinged off the protective barriers. The rail-rifle whined behind him, and one of the bird aliens was knocked flying backwards as the titanium slug impacted the shield, the barrier glowing red as it absorbed and deflected the kinetic energy.

The aliens arm shattered under the impact, and it squawked in agony for a few seconds before Ellis put a burst into its prone form. The rail-rifle whined again, and another alien was knocked flat before being killed by a burst from an assault rifle.

Plasma washed over the facing of the house, the aliens probably trying to take down the rifle operator, but doing so left the two remaining ambulatory Marines at the skip bin free to move.

Ellis stood ad tossed a fragmentation grenade, his comrade following a second later. Both grenades arced beautifully over the heads of the advancing aliens, bounced once, then detonated, sending shrapnel into the aliens unprotected backsides.

The aliens broke rank again, turning tail and running. A proper tactical retreat with the shields covering them might have saved a few, but it was full-on rout and they were all cut down by well placed fire from the Marines.

"Alright ladies, good work," Johnson's voice crackled over the squad-link. "Check the wounded, check your ammo then get ready to move out, we've still got to get to the city."

Ellis helped the burned Marine to his feet, reflecting on the past couple of days. There had been a great deal of fighting, the small garrison of UNSC Marines using superior tactics and strategy to hold back the alien foe that outnumbered them by a huge margin.

Marines were trained to fight in any environment, but the streets, back alleys and buildings of the urban fighting taking place on Harvest fitted the UNSC's squad level urban war fighting techniques like a glove. The aliens simply charged into battle, all guns blazing, and were cut down by precise fire from interlocking firing lanes.

The aliens would win eventually, but the cost was steep in terms of lives and material. The Marines on Harvest wouldn't be able to hold out forever. They needed a rescue.

**Picon Anchorage  
Orbitng Picon  
Cyrannus Sector, Twelve Colonies Of Kobol**

"Unbelievable," Admiral Nagala breathed, watching in awe as the massive, blocky ship tore apart a Covenant destroyer with apparent ease, the other destroyer exiting the system quickly. The footage had been captured by a Raptor crew that had survived a fight with those same destroyers.

Seven people out of close to 4000 from a pair of _Talos_-class battlestars, but they had brought back footage of an unknown ship that single-handedly defeated a Covenant destroyer.

The ship in question was a little smaller than a _Mercury_-class battlestar, but appeared to be much more heavily armed and armoured, although apparently lacking any kind of fighter hangar.

"The fight lasted less than three minutes from opening salvo to the exit of the remaining destroyer," Commander Arcturus Montegna, the CO of Picon Anchorage, said as the lights came back on in the briefing room. "DRADIS readings were limited; the sensors were confused by an electro-magnetic field surrounding the unknown ship."

"Is that why those plasma torpedoes appeared to break up partially before impact?" Doctor Gaius Baltar asked from his position to Admiral Nagala's left. "It would certainly explain how that ship was able to survive so many hits with minimal damage. Perhaps it was designed specifically to perform such a function? An intriguing idea, why didn't I think of that?"

"Doctor, please let the man finish," Nagala admonished lightly, putting up with the man if only for the fact that his intellect had been integral to keeping the Covenant at bay.

The Twelve Colonies had established dozens of extra-Colonial bases and settlements since the Cylon War, and twenty-one months ago one of the outermost of these settlements had been attacked and destroyed from orbit by the aliens.

In that time, the Colonials had received one audio message from the Covenant: "Your destruction is the will of the Gods, and we are their instrument."

That message had caused an uproar among those that knew about it, some believed that the Lords Of Kobol were angry with them and had sent their servants, the Covenant, to punish them. Others believed that it had been the Colonial Administrations fault and that one of the settlements had been established on a world claimed by the Covenant. Others still believed that the aliens believed in wholly different gods and that it was some kind of religious mandate that saw so many Colonials killed at the hands and fleets of the Covenant.

"Thank you, Admiral," Montegna said. "From what we can see from this footage, the unknown ship is armed with a potent mix of rail-guns, auto-cannons and missile launchers, not unlike our own ships. And then there's this."

A short section of the video replayed itself in slow motion; the bow of the unknown ship lit up with an electrical flash, and a projectile almost as large as the Raptor filming the engagement flung across space, shattering the Covenant destroyers shield and obliterating the ship.

"We don't know for sure what it is, but our best analysis suggests it may be a very powerful coil-gun," Montegna continued. "We never pursued the technology because of it's susceptibility to EMP bursts, but clearly makes for a potent weapon."

"So, in summary," Nagala said. "What you're telling me is that there is an advanced race out there capable of taking on the Covenant on relatively even terms?"

"Yes, sir," Montegna answered.

"Well then gentlemen," Nagala announced, standing up. "I propose we prepare a scouting group to deploy to the sector of space this fight took place in and send out Raptors to scout the sector in concentric rings to try and find these new aliens in the hopes we can come to some sort of agreement with them."

There were nods a round the room, one of the other Admirals standing and addressing Nagala.

"I would like to volunteer _Pegasus_ and her battlegroup for this mission, sir," Admiral Helena Cain said, standing ramrod straight.

"I'm sorry, Admiral," Nagala said. "We can't afford to lose so powerful a force as your battlegroup at this stage, with the Covenant closer than ever to finding the Colonies."

"I understand, sir," Cain answered. "Did you have someone else in mind, if you don't mind my asking."

"As a matter of fact, Helena, I do," Nagala smiled. "If you'll excuse me, I have to go brief the President."


	4. Searching

****

Orbit Of Human World  
Covenant Battle-cruiser Righteous Fury  
Ninth Age Of Reclamation  
Ship Master Eta Noranee Commanding

Powerful, lanky arms cross over his barrel chest, Ship Master Noranee cut a decidedly imposing figure in the gloom of the battle-cruiser's bridge, lit only by the numerous holo-displays.

The main display showed the human world, slowly growing larger as the battle-cruiser drew closer. Noranee had not believed the initial reports about contact with more of the damned humans, having personally seen to the destruction of no less than three tainted worlds many light-years from here.

Most of the human worlds had been fairly close together, and it had been assumed that this one was a secret military base that had been established by the apes when the inevitable happened and the Covenant obliterated their homeworld.

The blocky human ship encountered thirteen light-years away had been believed to be a prototype, possibly operating from this secret base. To Noranee's trained eye, it was immediately apparent that that assumption was incorrect.

The design of the human ships here were completely different to those previously encountered, and their technology was more advanced, though still no match for the Covenant's own. Likewise, the humans fighting valiantly on the ground were far better equipped; better armour, better weapons, better communications devices, better vehicles, better everything as far as Noranee could tell.

The small garrison of human warriors was proving to be incredibly stubborn in their defence of their home, and already Unggoy losses had been nearly a dozen times higher than expected. The Prophets had ordered the world to be secured from the ground with minimal orbital bombardment for reasons unknown, however, and us such they had to overwhelm the humans through less effective means.

It was Noranee's belief that these humans were of a different breed to the ones he was used to. Given the amount of infrastructure on the planet and the estimation of the worlds population, the colony had to have been established more than forty cycles ago, and Covenant Intelligence knew for a fact that the humans had not begun colonisation beyond their home system - whose location was still unknown - until thirty-two cycles ago.

Personally, Noranee was relieved that these new humans were proving so much more challenging; there was no honour in slaying a weak opponent, and under the orders of the Prophets, that was precisely what Noranee had been doing.

It had been a surprise finding more humans among the stars, although many argued that it shouldn't have been because the apes were a plague upon the universe.

Noranee was just glad to finally have met a race that might be a true challenge for him to fight.

"Ship Master, our objective grows near," a red-armoured Major Domo Sangheili growled quietly. "What are your orders?"

Noranee considered the question for a long moment, clacking his mandibles thoughtfully. The Unggoy were woefully outmatched by these humans, and reports indicated that the Kig'Yar were faring little better. Neither races were true warriors, the Unggoy as a general rule were cowardly and the Kig'Yar cared only about themselves, often scavenging from corpses items that they could sell at a later time.

The humans had presented a challenge, and no Sangheili ever refused a challenge. Warriors deserved warriors, not the puny cannon fodder that had been throwing themselves at the human warriors for days now with no real success.

Noranee had been sent to resolve the situation quickly, and that was exactly what he would do.

"Tell our warriors to prepare for battle, they will be engaging these humans personally," Noranee said finally.

"At once, Ship Master," the Domo replied. "Will you be joining us on the field of battle?"

"That is my wish, brother, but I must remain here and oversee command of this vessel," Noranee answered. "I've no doubt that more human vessels will attempt to reclaim this system before we have swept the surface clean."

The Domo nodded once, leaving the bridge swiftly to deliver the news, while Noranee returned his gaze to the human world. With a spreading of the lower mandibles that passed for a grin for his race, he found he was rather looking forward to facing this new foe.

&&&&&

**March 11th, 2525  
Harvest  
Surface**

Corporal Ellis was crying, and he knew he wasn't the only one in the fire team. They were on the outskirts of the city, having seen little fighting since the skirmishes in the outlying town.

The girl Ellis held in his arms couldn't have been more than four or five years old. Her chest was a mess of burned flesh, slowly oozing blood despite the bio-foams best efforts. Her eyes were glazed, but she was still alive, breathing laboriously.

"Will I get to see my mommy again?" the girl asked in a small, weak voice. She wasn't in pain; the morphine saw to that. The dose was lethal, but it had been immediately clear that the girl would die from her wounds in any case, and it had been decided by the whole team that the least they could do was make sure she didn't feel her grievous wounds. "Daddy said she was in Heaven."

"Yes," Ellis said, his voice hoarse as he tried to speak around the painful lump in his throat. They were in a small house, presumably the girls home, the rest of the team spread out covering the windows and doorways. They were all silent. "You'll get to see your mommy again, sweetheart, and your daddy and all your friends."

"And Rascal?" the girl's voice sounded noticeably weaker already, and her eyes were now half closed as she looked up at Ellis.

Having no clue who or what Rascal was, but assuming it was some pet or another belonging to the girl, Ellis said, "you bet, Rascal will be there too. And you'll be able to do whatever you want, stay up late, play as long as you want, eat ice cream for breakfast, lunch and dinner and…"

Ellis trailed off as the girl went limp in his hands, her head lolling back, eyes still half-open. Someone choked back a loud sob as Ellis gently lowered the child to the floor, closing her eyes over. A hand fell heavily on Ellis' shoulder, and he looked up to see the grim dark features of Sergeant Johnson. Neither man said anything for a long time.

"We never knew her name," Private Kendra Yeats, the teams rail-rifle operator, said quietly. "She looks so much like my niece."

"Use it," Johnson said gruffly, expression hardening suddenly. "Ball up all that rage and hate and disgust for those alien motherfuckers and turn it into a weapon. Use it, and maybe we can stop this happening to anyone else, and wipe out all those bastards in the meantime."

The words were hard, but it seemed to be exactly what the team needed to hear. Grim-faced and sullen, with tracks running down their cheeks from tears, the assemble Marines hardened their resolve.

Ellis looked down at the girl, thinking that if it weren't for the horrible wound on her chest, she would look like she was asleep. He stared at her for a long time while the others slowly prepared to move out, the atmosphere among the team thick with grief for the child whose name they did not know and with a hatred for the monsters that did this so thick it threatened to suffocate the room.

"We can't just leave her," he said, standing up but not retrieving his weapon.

"We have to, son," Johnson replied, his gravely voice seeming loud despite not having raised it. "We can't take the time to give her a proper burial yet, not until every last on of those sons of bitches are in graves of their own. If we stop now, we lose momentum and time, time which could mean all the difference for other people out there, still alive."

Ellis' own features hardened; he knew the Sarge was right, but he wasn't at all happy about it.

"Yes sir," Ellis muttered, retrieving his rifle and checking the mag, sparing one final look at the girl before following Johnson out of the house. Behind him, the rest of Bravo Team followed, one by one.

The squad made it's way swiftly and cautiously through the ruins, past flaming cars, scorched bodies and demolished houses all the while the distant crackle of small arms fire punctuated the air, much louder booms of vehicle mounted cannons beating a rhythm like a marching band.

Smoke hazed the air, stinging their eyes and grating their throats. It looked like the end of the world. Overhead, two U-shaped craft that served as the aliens dropships thrummed, tri-pronged plasma bursts raking a distant rooftop even as a puff of smoke and chemical propellant vapours erupted from the same rooftop as a missile streaked up to intercept the foremost ship.

The warhead detonated against one of the arms and the ship wobbled madly for a few seconds before its pilot regained control, right before another missile struck in almost the exact same place. The arm sheared off completely, and the ship made a half spin before slamming into the side of a building and exploding spectacularly, yellow flames and blue plasma setting the side of the building and the street below alight.

"Contact!" one of the Marines hissed. "12 o'clock high, blue six storey building on the left, third floor, fourth window from the right, seventy metres out."

The whole squad broke and sought cover even as the aliens occupying the building spotted them and green plasma boiled down at them, melting the asphalt and kicking up sprays of molten glass.

"Cocksuckers!" Private Yeats screamed, the rail-rifle whining in her hands, the projectile blazing through the air at just over Mach 8. A shower of fluorescent blue blood rained from the building as one of the aliens was struck by the round, and the other Marines took their cue to open fire with their own weapons.

To conserve ammo, they were all firing with their selectors in single round mode. Deadly accurate fire punched into the swarm of aliens in the building, the armour-piercing rounds punching clean through the relatively thin brick walls and killing even the few aliens that weren't leaning out of the windows, making easy targets of themselves.

"Switch fire," Johnson called above the din. "Building's lobby, lot's of the stubby little bastards comin' out."

Ellis immediately switched targets, smiling in grim satisfaction as one the aliens fell, screaming, from the third story and crashing the ground with a sickening splat. Aliens boiled forth from the building, shouting and chattering excitedly, and were met with disciplined fire from the Marines.

Plasma scoured the wrecked cars behind which the Marines had taken cover, inaccurate but deadly if it touched flesh, but the aliens were falling quickly, the entryway to the building clogging with corpses to the extent were fresh aliens had to climb over the bodies of their comrades.

Ellis dropped a spent mag, swiftly changing to a fresh one - his last one, he noted duly. Fire slackened a little as two more Marines switched magazines, and the aliens bound closer, some of them on all fours.

The image of the little girl fresh in his mind, Ellis' blood coursed with rage as he tossed a grenade with a shouted warning. The small device sailed through the air, tossed expertly by the Corporal, and landed right in the path of the charging aliens.

Instead of an explosion, though, there was a flash of energy that disrupted anything electronic within a thirty foot radius - Ellis had thrown a Disruptor grenade without realising. He was about to curse his stupidity when the aliens started shrieking anew, only this time it sounded less like a battle-cry and more like a mewl of agony.

The plasma pistols in their hands melted as the containment bottle holding the plasma inside the weapons was disrupted by the grenades, and liquid metal fused with steel-blue and grey flesh. Several others simply exploded in blue flame as plasma grenades also lost containment. Others still dropped to the ground, gasping and seemingly struggling for air as the electrical regulator systems for their life support packs shut down, cutting off the flow of methane gas that kept them alive and condemning them to death by suffocation.

As far as Ellis was concerned, that was too good for them. The Corporal nearly leapt out of his skin as a loud, pained scream pierced the air behind him. He spun quickly in place and looked on in horror as the badly burned Marine who had been injured a couple of days ago was dragged by his arms into a back alley.

"Sarge!" Ellis yelled, and Johnson turned to see what was going on.

"Shit," Johnson swore. "Ellis with me, the rest of you hold this position."

Johnson and Ellis leap-frogged from cover to cover quickly down the street, ever conscious of the plasma still flying their way. The Marine - who insisted Ellis call him Bob-o - was screaming even more horribly now, and as the Sarge and Ellis skidded around the corner, they saw why.

Ellis gagged in his throat as the three bird-like aliens chewed on the man, one of them having torn off his right arm and scampered a short distance away, biting viciously into the flesh. One of the other aliens bit down on Bob-o's throat, and his screams died away with a gurgle as blood filled his lungs and oesophagus.

In a blind rage that stunned even himself, and scared the hell out of the monsters eating his would-be friend, Ellis ran forward full tilt, emptying half of his last clip into the two still with the body and tearing them apart in a shower of gore. Dropping his rifle and drawing his combat knife as the last alien dropped the dismembered arm and tried to draw its pistol, Ellis crash-tackled the thing to the ground, plunging the 12 inch carbon-Kevlar blade over and over again into its face and chest.

He didn't know how long he kept it up for, but when he finally regained his senses, the whole of Bravo Team was there, looking on in silence, and there was little left of the alien's upper body that wasn't a bloodied, ravaged mess. Ellis was himself coated in purple-black blood and gore, breathing in and out rapidly as his rage drained away, to be replaced with the shock of what he'd done.

Days ago, when the invasion first started, he never would have flown into such a fit of anger. He hadn't hated the monsters invading his world then, only anxious about fighting them. Now, he was standing in an alley, between the half eaten corpse of a fellow Marine and the brutally stabbed remains of a creature he'd killed without thought.

He hated the aliens now, without a shred of doubt, and he hated himself for what they had turned him into. There would be no quarter for the aliens now, nowhere for them to hide that could shield them from Ellis' wrath or that of humanity as a whole, not after the atrocities committed here.

Ellis just hoped he lived to see every last one of them scoured from existence.

&&&&&

**March 11th 2525  
Human Colony-world Novus  
Orbit**

By some truly phenomenal stroke of good luck, the 42nd Strike Force had been en route to Novus from Reach for wargames when the Lexington and the Defiant Warrior had arrived with news of an alien invasion three days ago.

Given that space stretched on to infinite, it was difficult to imagine it as crowded, but that was the best way to describe the scene in orbit of Novus now. The 42nd wasn't a small group by any means, with a solid core of two Marathon-class cruisers and a Myrmidon-class carrier, all escorted by dozens of destroyers and frigates and that wasn't even the end of it.

Captain Davian of the Defiant Warrior had requested permission to accompany the Strike Force to Harvest, and it had been immediately given. The Warrior was lightly damaged, and most of that had been repaired in the orbital shipyard over the past few days, and it's crew was the only one aside from that of the near-crippled destroyer Lexington with any experience fighting the invaders.

Along with the four Prometheus-class heavy destroyers that had accompanied them, the 42nd was a truly formidable fighting force. The heavy destroyers were technically on their shakedown cruises, all four having finished construction just over a fort-night ago. They were experimental ships, the only four of their kind in existence, and had been designed to bridge the gap between destroyers and cruisers.

Each one had a formidable array of rail-guns of a new, inspired design. Also technically experimental, these new rail-guns were arranged in a gatling style, with six pairs of superconductive rails per turret. They boasted a dramatic increase in firing rates over the older rail-guns, as the last set of rails fired their projectile the first was ready for firing again, ensuring a respectable cyclic rate of just under six hundred rounds per minute.

The downside to the design was that it ate up ammunition much more quickly than the older models, and as such much of the ships internal space was crammed with magazines for the guns. The size of the projectiles had been reduced as well, so that each round was just three inches long instead of the normal twelve inches, reducing their individual damage considerably, but the higher rate of fire more than made up for it.

The bow of the heavy destroyers were twin-pronged, each of the prongs mounted four frontal rail-gun turrets, while suspended between the prongs was a long, thick barrel for another recent addition to the UNSCs arsenal; replacing the Magnetic Accelerator Cannon was the very first ship-mounted Particle Accelerator Cannon, one of the few energy weapons the UNSC used on warships.

The weapon itself had been around for centuries, but newer, more efficient fusion reactors saw a recent resurgence in interest for directed energy weapons, and the PAC had been the first to be redesigned and deployed on a starship.

The four heavy destroyers had been assigned to the 42nd temporarily for the duration of the wargames, and would now make a welcome addition to the forces preparing even now to enter slip-space and retrieve Harvest from the clutches of their new enemy.

&&&&&

**Valkyrie-class Battlestar Valkyrie  
Colonial Reconnaissance Task Force 19  
Commander William Adama Commanding**

Commander Adama reviewed the reports from the numerous Raptors scouting the outlying systems. The Valkyrie, along with an escorting force of two Hecate-class Strikestars, had returned to the system in which two Talos-class Battlestars had been lost, and in which the unknown warship had been observed engaging the Covenant destroyers.

A dozen Raptors had spread out, searching the nearby star systems methodically, slowly expanding their search outwards, the Valkyrie herself remaining in system and letting the recon birds do their work. So far, nothing had turned up.

Sighing, the older man with intense blue eyes and a scarred, haggard face set the reports on his desk. Still nothing, except for a massive asteroid containing a sizeable Tylium ore deposit two jumps away.

"Anything?" Colonel Saul Tigh, Adama's Executive Officer and old friend, asked, knocking back a thumb of ambrosia and relishing in the burn at the back of his throat. Adama shook his head.

"Not yet," Adama replied curtly. "For all we know, that ship could be a hundred light-years from here by now."

"Maybe," Tigh agreed. "But you saw the footage, and there's still even debris in-system. This could be our most important mission ever."

That was saying a lot, given the duo's track record. Under Adama's command, the Valkyrie herself had survived four separate engagements with the Covenant, and had three kills to her name; a frigate and two corvettes.

"We were told to stay out here as long as supplies allowed," Adama said. "Or until we find our friends."

"How long before the Raptors are refuelled?" Tigh asked, reaching for the reports to glance over them himself.

"Twenty minutes; this'll be the last sweep for the current crews, we're rotating them out to get some rest afterwards," Adama answered. The Valkyrie was launching and retrieving Raptors constantly, rotating crews to ensure that there was never any more than a thirty minute gap between sweeps.

The battlestar and it's escorts were the lynchpin of the operation, serving as home base. One of the newest settlements - and one of the first to fall to the Covenant - had been less than four jumps away from this very system. The two smaller Talos battlestars had launched a recon mission to that system to see if the Covenant still garrisoned captured systems out this far. Unfortunately for those battlestars, they did.

Adama was more than a little uneasy being so close to a Covenant stronghold, but in the time they had been in-system there had been no sign of the genocidal aliens. That didn't mean the commander was about to relax anytime soon, though.

"I hope we find what we're looking for soon," Adama sighed, rolling his shoulders slightly and leaning back in his chair. "BSG-77, BSG-29 and WSG-19 are supposedly going assault the Covenant fleet at Ceres in a few weeks to try and throw them off the Colonies' scent."

Tigh looked surprised at the news. He'd known that Colonial Fleet Command was going to mount on offensive, but he hadn't realised how big it would be. Two battlestar groups and a warstar group was a significant force, almost 120 ships including anything from ammunition and fuel colliers to one of the massive Zeus-class Warstars.

"If we had some help from advanced allies, it would likely go much more smoothly," Adama finished.

"If we can find them in time."

"Yes, Saul," Adama replied. "If we can."


	5. Colonial Retreat

****

Extra-Colonial Settlement Hera II  
Evacuation Underway

"Break, break, break!" Captain Lee 'Apollo' Adama screamed over the squad-link, following his own advice and swinging his Mark VII Viper Space Superiority Fighter away from the Covenant Teardrop fighters slashing in at them.

Apollo's fighter flipped over and a burst of fire hammered the shields of one of the nearest fighters, the other Vipers in his squadron following suit, using their much greater manoeuvrability to their advantage.

The alien fighters were ridiculously resistant to damage compared to the fragile Vipers and their weapons were powerful enough to be a threat to the more lightly armoured heavy ships like strikestars.

The fighter Apollo had tagged swung around in a fairly tight arc, pulse plasma cannons flashing and a Viper exploded as the super-hot material caught its fuselage. Apollo cut main engines, allowing momentum to carry him past the alien ship and using his manoeuvring thrusters to keep his nose - and his guns - pointed at the Teardrop.

Thirty millimetre auto-cannon shells pounded the shielded fighter as another Viper copied Apollo's tactic and joined in, overwhelming the shield and punching holes in the fighters armour. Blue plasma discharged from a direct hit the Teardrop's engine and the crafts rear ended detonated.

Apollo had a split second after the destruction of the fighter to quickly feed power back to his main engines, rocketing forward and away from two more Teardrops as they raced toward him. His companion wasn't quite so fast.

"Gods," Apollo growled in anger, his craft bucking and weaving as bright blue plasma bolts pulsed past, creating a strobe-like effect in the cockpit. "Back off, damn it!"

The Viper was supremely agile, so much so that even the arrogant Covenant pilots had developed a healthy respect for the small craft, but that didn't mean they no longer made the mistake of underestimating them. Apollo's fighter flipped over suddenly, cutting main engines again so that he was now flying backwards, facing the pursuing fighters.

A missile - his last one - streaked out from one of the Vipers stubby wings, followed by a long stream of auto-cannon shells. One Teardrop broke pursuit momentarily, the other stayed its course and was destroyed by the HE missile and the barrage of shells.

The Viper flipped again and Apollo dialled the engine up to maximum, then overrode the safeties and kept pushing it, the three thrusters spewing white hot Tylium vapour in a long trail behind him. Ahead of him, the Mercury-class Battlestar Trident fired its bow artillery cannons, two dozen powerful shells filled with high-explosive ripping into a wounded Covenant frigate.

The frigate exploded in a bright conflagration, and Apollo shielded his eyes from it, still jerking his control yoke in all directions on instinct in case another fighter tried to take a pot-shot at him.

The attacking forces had originally consisted of three frigates, a destroyer and a carrier, prompting the Colonials to speed up the evacuation of the settlements thirty-five thousand inhabitants immediately. Two frigates had been destroyed in battle so far, at the cost of three strikestars, a Talos-class Battlestar and heavy damage to the Mercury-class Battlestar Europa.

The Covenant destroyer was being orbited by the three remaining strikestars, its shield under constant assault by rail-guns and missiles. Pulse lasers speared out from the destroyer, mangling the engines of one of the strikestars. The blocky strikestar, shaped not unlike the main body of a Columbia-class Battlestar, minus the flight pods of course, fell out of formation as secondary explosions rippled along its spine.

A plasma torpedo intersected the wounded strikestar amidships, cutting the doomed vessel in half. The two remaining strikestars accelerated away from the destroyer and seconds later two small suns were born, hiding the destroyer from visual scans and DRADIS from the radiation the fission bombs put out.

It emerged from the rapidly dying flames, shield glowing vibrant silver and pulse lasers strobing, lighting up its purple hull and where the shadows remained hugging it patterns emerged, making the ship look like a demented sea-beast.

The Trident's bow artillery spoke again, targeting the destroyer this time, and the Europa's own remaining guns spoke in support, ball-shaped explosions blossomed over the surface of the Covenant ships shield under the barrage.

Another plasma torpedo streaked away from the destroyer as it's shield gave out and the main guns of the two battlestars started striking the smaller ships hull. The torpedo arced gracefully through space, targeting the Europa. In the early days of the war, the battlestar would have attempted evasive manoeuvres, but at that range and with torpedoes' tracking ability, it was a foregone conclusion.

The Europa accelerated to well past safety regulations, intent on ramming the destroyer. The torpedo struck the alligator-head of the battlestar, burning through with contemptuous ease, not stopping until it had cored almost half-way through the ship. The CIC, nestled deep behind the thick armour of the head, was undoubtedly destroyed.

The latest ablative armour, designed by one Doctor Gaius Baltar, was somewhat effective at resisting pulse laser strikes, but they had nothing that could withstand a plasma torpedo yet.

The Europa ploughed headlong into the destroyer, the smaller ship not even trying to get out of the way. Both ships went up in eye-watering explosions as their reactors went critical.

"All Vipers, this is Trident Actual," a tinny voice said over the Vipers speakers, startling Apollo. "Return to carriers and stand by for jump. All civilian ships have jumped away."

Which, by Apollo's calculation, still left well over ten thousand people on the planets surface. Coming in swiftly to the Trident's starboard hangar bay, he noted absently that less than a third of the fighters he'd launched with were returning. It was always the same; the Covenant always won in the end.

The remaining two alien ships, a carrier and a frigate, were still more than a match for the lightly damaged Trident, the two wounded strikestars and the last damaged Talos-class ship. They would leave, and the Covenant would burn this world to a cinder. Nothing would survive.

They were less than three days from the Colonies if they travelled in a straight line, Apollo knew, but they wouldn't be doing that. They'd be following the Cain Protocol instead, and exiting the system on a predetermined vector to meet up with the civilian ships and their two escorting Valkyrie-class Battlestars.

From there, they would make no less than five blind jumps in concert, leading away from the Colonies in case the Covenant were following. Afterwards, they would turn around and start heading back home. It used up a lot of fuel and meant it would probably take at least twice as long to get home, but it was better than leading the Covenant straight to the Colonies.

The last thing Apollo saw before the blast doors of the hangar bay closed was the Covenant carrier, discharging plasma torpedoes down to the planet below. Then, they jumped.

&&&&&

**March 14th 2525  
Harvest system  
Prometheus-class heavy destroyer Prometheus  
Commander Alejandro Sanchez commanding**

Commander Sanchez held his breath, praying to whomever might be listening that this worked. The Prometheus had slipped in ahead of the rest of the task force and immediately started broadcasting a distress signal, using the ships extensive ECM suite to disguise itself as a civilian bulk freighter.

The plan was to try and use the signal to draw out a couple of alien ships away from the bulk of the small fleet and hope that they couldn't see through the ECM in time to realise it was a trap. The Marathon-class cruiser December Dawn and the twin destroyers Providence and Prudence were less than a minutes travel away from the Prometheus at full burn, their own ECM running on stealth mode as opposed to the Prometheus' deception mode.

Any number of things could go horribly wrong with the plan; the aliens could catch on early, or they could see right through the ECM of all four ships, or they could send a force powerful enough to overwhelm the ships before the rest of the task force could transition to real-space to help.

"Three ships closing fast, sir," Lieutenant Franklin whispered, as though keeping his voice low would somehow help the ruse. "A frigate and two corvettes, looks like they've taken the bait."

"Weapons?" Sanchez asked, his own voice barely more than a whisper, the lieutenants attempt to help the mission apparently contagious.

"Rail-guns primed, sir," Ensign Lowell replied evenly. "I've had Temuera configure the ECM to make the charged capacitors look like a reactor leak."

Temuera, the ships resident AI, was a sullen type, not much for conversation, but like all AIs was simply excellent at his job. His avatar took the form of a large Samoan fisherman rippling with muscles, though oddly enough the AI had chosen the voice pattern of an English aristocrat.

"If this doesn't work," Temuera announced loudly, making half the bridge crew jump at their stations. "We're all going to die. Probably quickly, but also quite painfully. Well, for you anyway"

"Thank you for that, Temuera," Sanchez said dryly. "I'd appreciate it if you'd just do your job and not complain."

"Of course, sir."

"Alien ships in weapons range in thirty seconds," Ensign Corbett at sensors said nervously. "Energy readings rising, I think they're charging weapons."

"That would be my analysis also, Captain," Temuera confirmed.

"Weapons, standby to shunt all power into the PAC capacitor, we'll only have one shot at this," Sanchez ordered. "Comms get the Dawn on the horn and tell them to start heading our way."

"Hostiles in range."

"Fire at will."

Immediately the eight forward rail-guns spat hyper-velocity shards of titanium at an incredible rate of fire, hammering the closest ship - a corvette - relentlessly as the Prometheus adjusted it's position, allowing it to bring two more rail-guns to bear on the besieged ship.

Pulse lasers strobed back, some shots going wide thanks to the ECM switching from deception to stealth, but most hit, coring into the two and a half metre armoured hide of the Prometheus.

The enemy corvette's shield opened up a little to let the pulse lasers fire, and dozens of rail-gun rounds slipped through punching holes in the ships thin armour before the protective barrier could close again, destroying the weapon turret.

More pulse lasers stabbed the heavy destroyer from all three ships, and several hull breeches spewed atmosphere out into the void.

"Fire the PAC," Sanchez ordered coolly, designating the wounded corvette as the target.

"Firing, aye."

A stream of subatomic particles, neutrons produced by the ships own deuterium-tritium fusion reactor, shot out from the cannon slung between the twin prongs of the Prometheus' bow at near light-speed. The results were spectacular.

The corvettes shield glowed under the intense energies, held a second, then shattered completely. The beam cut through the ship with ease, setting off a handful of small explosions deep within before the capacitors drained and the beam ceased. Hundreds of three inch rail-gun slugs hammered the ship into submission, shearing it in half and still hitting it even then.

"Enemy frigate preparing plasma torpedo," Corbett warned, and Sanchez cursed quietly to himself. It had been hoped that a frigate-sized ship didn't mount the much more powerful plasma weapons; if left unchecked it could seriously damage or even crippled the Prometheus. A cruiser's stronger shields and thicker armour might have taken it with no trouble, but the Prometheus wasn't even half as big as a cruiser.

He needn't have worried, though; a glowing projectile slammed into the frigates underbelly with enough force to send it spinning several kilometres off course, shield struggling. Seconds later, swarms of missiles converged on the frigate, battering down the shield in explosion after explosion before it finally failed, leaving better than a hundred missiles free to attack the hull directly.

The corvette started to accelerate toward the Prometheus, apparently intent on ramming the larger human ship, but two smaller MAC rounds hit it with a one two punch, the first obliterating the shield and the second doing the same to the ship.

A cruiser contact and two destroyer contacts appeared on the Prometheus' tactical display, below and facing directly upwards relative to the heavy destroyer and alien ships, as the three ships cut down on the ECM, and Sanchez breathed a sigh of relief.

"Sir, we're being hailed by the December Dawn," Corbett said exultantly, smiling widely.

"Patch it through," Sanchez said, then spoke into his mic. "Captain Juliani, perfect timing. Thank you."

"A pleasure, Alejandro," the other captain replied. "We're contacting the rest of the task force now, looks like our new friends aren't too happy with us."

Sanchez consulted the tac screen. Sure enough, almost all of the remaining alien ships were advancing toward them. Sanchez counted five destroyers, three more frigates, two cruisers and almost a dozen corvettes heading their way, with two ships staying behind. One of the ships to stay behind looked a lot like the cruisers, but was a good three hundred metres longer, and the other one…

"Temuera, confirm these readings are accurate?"

"Within a three metre margin of error, captain," the AI responded swiftly. Sanchez shook his head. The other remaining ship was over three and a half kilometres long, with a bulbous hook-headed bow section. Sanchez hoped dearly that it was merely some kind of troopship and not a dedicated warship.

As he examined the alien ships, the December Dawn opened a tiny slip-space rupture and sent a radio transmission through, telling the rest of the task force to transition and make ready for imminent hostile contact.

"This is going to be bad," Sanchez whispered, eyes fixed to the advancing alien ships.

&&&&&

**Covenant Battle-cruiser Righteous Fury  
Ship Master Eta Noranee Commanding**

"This is going to be bad," one of the Unggoy ratings on the bridge whispered, observing dozens of new contacts appearing on the display.

"Silence, worm," Noranee growled furiously. He had been hoping for a challenge, a real fight, and there it was right in front of him. He was practically frothing at the mouth in rage; the Prophet of Regret was aboard the super-carrier and had ordered Noranee's battle-cruiser remain behind to protect the much larger ship.

The super-carrier was a formidable ship in it's own right, with shields that far surpassed the Fury's own and an arsenal the envy of any battle-cruiser commander, not to mention over 200 Seraph fighters ensconced in it's thirteen hangar bays.

The fact that the two most powerful ships in-system were out of the fight wasn't even the worst of it; the damned fool Prophet had placed the remaining ships under the command of a Jiralhanae Chieftain, Gorgus. The very same Chieftain who had had his cruisers shield breached in the initial battle for this system because instead of balancing firepower and protection, the beast had drained the ships shield to supply extra power to weapons.

That tactic was reserved for extreme emergencies only, as in an actual stand up fight the weapons would overheat quickly and melt in their housings. If not that, then the power grid would overload and the ship would lose all major functions.

The Chieftain had no doubt ordered the ships now under his command to divert power from shields to weapons, a serious mistake if these humans were even half as competent as Noranee believed.

"Get me in contact with my brother," Noranee growled, watching the human ships forming up into an aggressive formation.

&&&&&

**Harvest, Surface  
That Same Time**

Field Master Ota Noranee, twin brother to the Ship Master commanding the orbiting battle-cruiser, grunted and ducked low behind a ruined wall as primitive projectiles sailed overhead.

Somewhere within the humans defensive line, a much heavier weapon opened fire, a booming rattle that forced the Unggoy with Ota to cower and crouch lower, covering their ears against the noise. Lines of tracer fire stitched back and forth across the low wall, and a group of unlucky Unggoy and Kig'Yar caught out in the open burst like overripe fruit under a hail of heavy calibre munitions.

"Brother," a tinny voice growled in his ear. "Human ships have entered the system and destroyed several ships already. They outnumber us."

"I have confidence you will defeat them, Eta," Ota replied as a fellow Sangheili poked his head out from cover and promptly lost it to deadly accurate sniper fire. "There is no finer strategist than you, and no finer ship than the Fury. With you in command, we cannot lose."

Ota fired his plasma rifle blindly over the top of the wall, marvelling at the humans tenacity. The Unggoy tides, supported by the noble Sangheili warriors had advanced into the city all but unopposed, facing small pockets of resistance that defeated several times their number in Unggoy and Kig'Yar before being annihilated.

Now, though, the advance had stalled completely at this T-junction, the humans having set up in several buildings and commanding an excellent field of fire. With a range and accuracy advantage over the Covenant plasma weapons, Ota had lost close to two hundred Unggoy and Kig'Yar and a dozen Sangheili in the past hour and a half since they'd been bogged down.

Ota had requested precision bombardment, but Regret had been adamant that no ships fire on the world.

"I am not in command, Ota," Eta replied calmly. "I am ordered to stay and protect the super-carrier and the Prophet."

"Then who commands our fleet?" Ota asked as fuel rods struck one of the occupied buildings, drawing satisfying screams from the humans.

"Gorgus."

Ota swore. Gorgus was stupid, even by Jiralhanae standards.

"Then we are all doomed," the field master snorted derisively.

"I will keep you informed, Ota," Eta replied, then shut down the link with a soft click that was barely audible over the din of battle.

"Field Master," a new voice crackled in his ear. "This is Flanking Team Two, we have been outflanked and engaged by the humans! We require immediate…"

The voice cut off suddenly and the link washed out to static. The unit he had sent to outflank the entrenched humans had themselves been outflanked. Ota had to admit that these humans were good at what they did.

A section of wall some twenty feet away exploded outwards, showering a group of Unggoy with shrapnel. The gaping hole in the wall told Ota that it was one of the humans hyper-velocity projectiles that had caused the damage.

"Bring forward our vehicle support," Ota commanded, growing weary of the back and forth exchange between his infantry and the humans.

"At once, Field Master," growled the voice of the Major Domo commanding the single Wraith tank that was nearby. The tank was supported by four Ghost single vehicles and a pair of Banshee fliers, circling high above the battle. Ota had been reluctant to deploy them so soon because the humans seemed to have an abundance of missile weapons at their disposal.

The large blue tank rounded a corner, it's anti-gravity repulsers keeping it several feet above the ground and ensuring a smooth rife for the driver and gunner, the Ghosts zipping around and ahead of it at speed. The haunting cry of the Banshees told Ota that they were diving, undoubtedly lining up for an attack run.

"Let's see how you handle this, humans," Ota smiled.

&&&&&

"Hot damn, boy!" Sergeant Johnson crowed, slapping Corporal Ellis on the shoulder and grinning as an explosion rocked the aliens frontline, hurling bodies and debris into the air.

Another rocket leapt from the building across the street with a whoosh-bang, and another group of the stubby little bastards was vaporised. On the floor below them, the .30 cal machine gun chattered its rhythm, cutting back and forth across the aliens and keeping them pinned.

Ellis' shoulder was bruised from the constant recoil of his rifle. He'd ditched the MAR-9C once it ran out of ammo and picked up an older MA5B assault rifle from a fallen comrade. The 7.62mm AP rounds the weapon fired didn't have sheer stopping power of the 9mm AP rounds of the former, but a larger magazine sized and higher rate of fire made up for it somewhat.

Private Yeats grinned evilly as she fired her rail-rifle, the round punching into the chest of one of the enormous squid-headed aliens. The personal shield protecting the alien vanished in a silver flash of light and the round passed straight through the alien and out the other side.

Green and blue plasma and pinkish needles hammered the Marine-occupied buildings, occasionally striking an unfortunate soldier. Bravo Team had literally stumbled upon this huge fire-fight and immediately joined the hundred or so Marines defending their little patch of dirt.

"Incoming!" someone shouted, and Ellis caught a glimpse of a great blue fireball arcing down towards the building before he ducked back and away from the window. The orb of plasma splashed against the building, behaving almost like a liquid, sending droplets and globs of super-heated matter through the windows.

People screamed as plasma washed over them, Ellis himself catching a small spatter to his left cheek. Rearing his head back and roaring in pain, the young corporal had the presence of mind to fumble for his canteen and splash water over his face, but the damage was done.

Half blind and in pure agony, Ellis stumbled to the back of the room and slumped to the floor, wailing. Sergeant Johnson appeared beside him, tube of bio-gel in hand, and quickly squeezed the tube over the burnt flesh, some of which was sloughing off the bone.

Ellis swung his hand blindly, striking Johnson in the face and knocking him to the side. The sergeant sat up immediately and jabbed an ampoule of morphine into Ellis' leg. The corporal stopped screaming, then seemed to slip into semi-consciousness.

"They're advancing!" a hoarse voice cried out, and Johnson patted Ellis' leg once, retrieve his rifle and returned cautiously back to the window. A high-pitched shrieking noise preceded a wash of plasma across the face of the building as the machine gun downstairs opened up again.

One of the alien fliers dove at the building, prompting Johnson to fire his rifle at the advancing aircraft ineffectually. Plasma blasts cratered the side of the building and then the flier was gone, lifting up into the air and turning around to assault the other building.

Another orb of plasma arced high overhead, crashing down in the street directly in front of the building Johnson occupied, joined by a rapid fire turret sweeping across the ground floor. The Marines, tired mentally and physically, low on supplies and with many wounded, rushed to the windows in defence, shouting insults at the alien invaders and mowing down a number of the stubby ones - which many were now calling Grunts, because of their apparent positions within the hostile armies.

The plasma fire intensified suddenly, cutting down several Marines and forcing the rest back as a small group of single-man vehicles hosed the two occupied buildings with rapid fire.

A blood-curdle war cry cut through the din of small arms fire and the shriek of the circling Banshees, and Johnson watched, wide-eyed, as the aliens leapt from cover and charged straight toward the Marines. One in particular, a massive split-chinned bastard wearing gold hued armour, charged ahead of the pack, a blade of pure light springing to life in its right hand, plasma rifle firing sporadically in its left.

"You're mine, you big bastard," Johnson growled, sighting up on the charging alien and firing a sustained burst. A glowing silver shield flashed into existence around the alien as bullets flattened against the barrier, more rounds going wide and kicking up dirt around the aliens massive hooves.

The gold armoured alien spotted Johnson and fired back, three plasma bolts whizzing past the sergeant and one hitting him in the chest, making him stumble back a little. The armour stopped it, several discs melting at the edges, and though his chest burned and bubbled into blisters underneath, he grit his teeth and fought through the pain.

He returned to the window, just in time to see a missile streak skyward from the opposite building and strike one of the Banshees as it came around for another attack. Looking down, he realised the machine gun on the ground floor had ceased firing and that a number of aliens were now out of sight, presumably inside the building.

"Hostiles on the stairwell!" Yeats yelled and fired her rail-rifle, splitting a charging Grunts head wide open before the round punched through the wall behind the alien. Johnson turned, shouldered his rifle and fired a burst into another Grunt, other Marines following suit.

A fuzzy blue orb sailed up the stairs into the room, prompting the humans to scatter. The orb exploded in a shower of released plasma. No one was hurt, but that wasn't the point; with no one firing into the stairwell the aliens were free to penetrate the room.

Plasma and tracer fire filled the room in a deadly cross-fire, neither side had anywhere to seek cover, so it was all down to who had the fastest trigger finger. Marines and aliens dropped in equal measure, Johnson himself spraying his assault rifle on full auto until the clip ran dry.

He dropped the empty rifle and swung up his sidearm, pulling the trigger as quickly as he could, downing three more Grunts before running dry. As he ejected the mag, the gold bastard leaped through the doorway. Yeats swung the rail-rifle to aim at it, but the plasma blade flashed and the woman fell back with a cry as he stomach was torn open, the rifle skittering across the floor.

The golden alien fired a stream of plasma bolts into another Marine, struggling to reload his assault rifle, cutting the man down. Johnson and the alien were the only two left standing now, and big bastard turned to face the sergeant.

"You want me you squid-headed son of a bitch?" Johnson growled, pistol in one hand, carbon-Kevlar blade in the other. "Well you can come get me."

The alien huffed, mandibles flaring open wide, and it inclined its head towards Johnson. Then, it raised the plasma rifle and fired.

Johnson dove to the left as soon as the alien moved, tucking into a roll as plasma splashed behind him. Johnson rolled to his feet, pistol up and firing, putting twelve rounds into the aliens gun hand as he charged his much larger opponent. The kinetic force from the bullets forced the gun hand aside, ruining the aliens aim, but no rounds penetrated the shield.

The alien swung its sword with a roar, Johnson ducking underneath the passing blade and feeling heat on his face as it went by. He came up inside the aliens reach, lashing out with the knife at the gun hand. To his surprise, no shield flared up and the blade skittered across armour instead, before finding flesh and sliding in.

Johnson stumbled back as the alien roared again, in pain this time, pulling the blade free. The plasma rifle fell from the aliens wounded hand, and the sword swung back at Johnson. The sergeant leapt back, the tip of the blade slashing across his stomach and burning through the armour instantly and sending pain coursing through his veins.

Ironically, the pain saved his life; as he doubled over from the pain, the blade swept back again, passing through the space his neck had occupied an instant earlier. Johnson leaped at the alien, tackling its mid-section had and slamming it back wards into a wall, and rammed the blade into it's stomach all the way up to the hilt.

Roaring, the alien head butted Johnson hard in the face, breaking his nose. He stumbled back from the alien, falling hard on his ass. He watched groggily as the alien pulled the blade from its stomach and tossed it away.

"You fought well, human," the thing said, the words garbled as the growled out. It stepped forward, sword raised. "Now, you will die with honour."

"Eat shit and die," Johnson spat, glaring defiantly back at the alien. It inclined its head again, then began swinging the blade down. Johnson's eyes tracked the glowing blade down, seemingly in slow motion, then frowned in confusion as purple rain exploded across the room.

The alien teetered back and forth for a moment, then collapsed forward, blade dropping from its hand and deactivating as it hit the ground. It landed beside Johnson with a heavy thud, a gaping hole in its back. The floor was visible through the hole. His eyes scanned the room, searching for his saviour, before falling on Corporal Ellis.

Ellis clutched Yeats' rail-rifle in a death grip, hands shaking, then his head lolled forward onto his chest as he passed out again. At such close range, the slug had obliterated the shield and gone clean through the alien.

"Hot damn, boy," Johnson murmured to the decimated room full of corpses.


	6. Second Harvest

****

Harvest  
_Myrmidon_-class carrier _Entropy_, 42nd Task Force Flagship  
Preparing to engage Covenant forces

  
"They're advancing in a staggered formation," the Entropy's AI, Cassandra, reported to Rear Admiral Wilhelm Schweiger. "Their fastest ships are approaching at speed, well ahead of the rest of the fleet."

Admiral Schweiger examined the advancing ships on the tactical display himself, holographic red blips moving quickly toward his own stationary blue blips.

"Their fastest ships are also their weakest," he observed, German accent thick; he was born and raised in Berlin. "Against a smaller task force, I've no doubt they would be a serious threat if allowed to close. Let's not give them that luxury."

He gestured to the display. "All ships reform into defence formation Theta. Co-ordinate with the other ships and get me firing solutions for those advancing corvettes. At contact minus thirty, order all ships to one-half reverse thrust."

Lines began appearing on the display, connecting the human ships to their alien counterparts. The frigates and destroyers would be engaging first, of course, their less powerful MACs would be sufficient to overcome the corvettes shielding. After that, the UNSC ships would switch to salvo fire with their Mark IX ASM-1191 Archer anti-ship missiles, saturating the purple hulled ships with high explosive warheads.

All the while, the UNSC fleet would be backing away from the advancing ships, hopefully buying enough time for the frigates and destroyers to recharge their main guns to engage the larger hostile ships.

"Whoever commands this fleet is a complete idiot," Captain Jane Satterfield remarked quietly to the admiral. "Throwing ships at us piecemeal like this."

"Perhaps, Captain," Schweiger answered. "But we may yet be surprised. The enemy's technological advantage is not to be discounted, and for all we know this moved could be part of some grand alien strategy."

"Yes sir," Satterfield said, suitably chastened. "Can we win this?"

"Assuming the Disruptor shells work against the plasma torpedoes, and assuming the enemy commander is, in fact, a moron," Schweiger said. "Then I certainly don't see why not. They have the edge in technology, but we are here in greater number."

Satterfield nodded her understanding, then went back to commanding her ship. Although Schweiger was the highest ranking individual in the fleet, he was also the flag officer and as such was too busy directing the fleet to directly command his flagship. He almost never commanded from the flag bridge though; he preferred to be on the main bridge, claiming that it added perspective to his work.

"Hostile ships entering range in thirty seconds," Cassandra said. "All ships commencing one-half reverse thrust."

The Entropy shuddered slightly as its bow engines came to life, pushing the ship away from the rapidly advancing aliens. Pinpricks of red light slashed into one of the frigates at the front of the line.

"Enemy ships have opened fire, pulse laser hits reported from the frigate _Sunderheart_," Cassandra reported, and seconds later more pulse lasers struck the frigate. "_Sunderheart_ reports multiple hull breaches and their number two engine is offline."

"Time until they enter main gun range?" Schweiger queried.

"Six seconds, sir," Cassandra replied as more pulse lasers strobed the frigate. A secondary explosion lit up its bow engines, and the frigate listed sharply to port, narrowly missing a destroyer. "_Sunderheart_ has taken critical damage to the bow engines. Commander Turnbow reports internal explosions and numerous hull breaches. They are abandoning ship"

"All ships, fire on their designated targets," Schweiger ordered, and immediately the frigates and destroyers, almost three dozen ships total, fired their MACs. Glowing shells streaked across space to strike the shielded corvettes, several ships falling out of formation from the kinetic force pushing them off course. Most lost shields as a handful of rounds missed.

"Salvo missiles now."

Better than 4000 Archer missiles erupted from the human front lines, and pulse lasers were immediately re-tasked to target the warheads. The pulse lasers had two settings, it seemed; one that enabled high-power, slow charging shots to penetrate armour and one that enabled low-power rapid-fire shots for point defence.

Missiles were shot down by the dozens, then scores and hundreds, but the balance of them made it past to batter the alien ships. Over half were torn apart by the high explosive missiles, several more taking heavy damage. Those whose shields had survived the MAC blasts intact were least damaged after the massed salvo.

Presumably panicked, the alien ships fired their pulse lasers at random into the front line, damaging several frigates and destroyers.

"Enemy ships are no longer concentrating fire," Cassandra said. "Light to moderate damage reported on the frigates _Heaven's Grace_, _Solaris_, _Dust In The Wind _and _Carpentos_. Light damage reported on destroyers _Archimedes_ and _Gorgon_. All ships are firing again."

More missiles streaked out to the remaining four corvettes, but this time the three ships kept firing at the human vessels. A frigate had its bow torn open under the fire and its main gun mangled, flames belching from hull breaches, fed by the ships internal atmosphere.

The missiles reached their targets, ball explosions showering the ships' renewed shields. The defensive barriers flared brilliant silver as they fended off countless missiles. One corvette lost its shield and was immediately swamped with warheads detonating across its hull.

Then another lost shields, and then another and finally the last one, the last missiles expending their munitions against them. One of the ships went up in a blue tinged explosion as its reactor was struck by a lucky hit, the explosion aiding the Archer missiles in finishing off another ship. When finally the deluge ended, two corvettes remained, crippled.

But one of them still had power. A single pulse laser reached out from the ship and touched the frigate _Solaris_, carving off a chunk of armour.

"Incredible," breathed Satterfield. "That much firepower should have destroyed all eleven ships in the first salvo."

"Had they been our ships, it would have," Schweiger said curtly. "Order the _Gorgon_ to finish it off."

The orders were sent, and the lightly damaged destroyer _Gorgon_ fired its main gun. Incredibly, the round had to shatter the alien ships shield a third time before it could do the same to the hull.

"It would seem that their shielding technology is quite robust," Cassandra commented. "Enemy frigates in range in forty-two seconds. Detecting new contacts: fighters inbound."

"Connect to the other ships via data-link and take control of the point defences, please," Schweiger replied. "And launch interceptors, keep them close to the task force so they don't fall prey to the enemies pulse lasers."

"Aye, sir," Cassandra said, delving into the 42nds battlenet and activating the data-link that would let her co-ordinated the point defences of every ship in the task force. The other two ships with AIs - the heavy destroyer _Prometheus_ and the _Marathon_-class cruiser _Terran Sunrise_ - were included in the data-link but PD control for those two ships remained under the direct control of their respective AI.

While that happened, she sent orders to launch two-thirds of the task force's fighter wings, keeping the remaining craft in reserve.

"Enemy frigates in range," Cassandra said, her statement punctuated by more pulse lasers striking the front lines. The frigates _Solaris_ and _Point Peak _took severe damage, one losing power to engines and falling behind, the other losing its MAC and portside bow engine as well as several missile pods.

"Archer's fire first," Schweiger ordered, and almost immediately the longer ranged missiles began firing, zeroing in on the closing frigates, a full seven seconds before the aliens would be in range of the MACs.

A lot of missiles were shot down, this time by fighters as well as pulse lasers, but the heavier armament of the frigates allowed them to split fire between the inbound missiles and the UNSC warships. A destroyer listed sharply, its reactor shutting down from a lucky hit to one of the primary power conduits and setting off the safety protocols.

"Enemy destroyers in range in fifteen seconds," Cassandra warned.

_This is going to be close_, Schweiger thought nervously to himself, although his features remained expressionless on the outside.

"Frontline fire MACs."

Multi-ton shells streaked after the missiles as the last of them expended themselves against the frigates shields, two or more shells per frigate. Again, a few missed, their targeting off slightly thanks to alien ECM systems, but the majority struck hard. Two frigates lost shields and were pummelled mercilessly, several armour piercing shells punching straight through the ships and leaving gaping holes. The more numerous tungsten carbide shells with ferrous cores shattered on impact, sending shards through the targeted ships interior and showering others nearby with shrapnel.

A number of fighters that had stayed too close to the frigates were ripped apart by the shrapnel clouds. Unfortunately, all three frigates survived, though they were all severely damaged to the point that they were almost crippled.

"Christ," Satterfield said softly. "What does it take to destroy these things?"

"Enemy destroyers in range now," Cassandra warned. The five enemy destroyers immediately opened fire with their pulse lasers, raking fire back and forth across the lines of human ships. A human destroyer disappeared in ball of fusion energy, taking a nearby frigate with it.

"Warning: enemy ships will be in plasma weapon range in twelve seconds!"

"Frontline engage at will," Schweiger said. "The time for finesse is over."

The remaining ships in the frontline instantly started salvoing missile fire at the advancing alien ships, their MACs speaking again, spreading fire over the aliens but mostly targeting the wounded frigates. One of the frigates was hit right in front of the engine assembly and sent spinning off into space, spewing debris, while an alien destroyer was struck with no less than four MAC rounds, its shield failing under the strain and its hull crumpling inward, but it remained intact and fired an answering salvo of pulse lasers that crippled a human frigate.

"All ships all stop, order the cruisers and heavy destroyers to stand-by to salvo their main guns at those hostile destroyers," Schweiger ordered calmly.

"Plasma discharges detected!" Cassandra all-but shouted as eight or so plasma torpedoes left their birthing turrets and homed in on the human frontline.

"All ships, execute evasive pattern bravo."

Evasive pattern bravo was meant to allow clustered together ships to avoid fusion warheads; destroyers and frigates split into pre-determined pairs or threes and each group went a different direction, careful not to stray too far from the capital ships and leave them vulnerable.

"Enemy cruisers in range in thirty seconds."

As the alien destroyers grew nearer, the human core ships finally joined the engagement. A MAC round from the _Defiant Warrior _finished off another frigate, and another from _December Dawn _shattered a destroyers weakened shield and split the already damaged ship in two.

The four _Prometheus_-class ships concentrated their PACs on a so far unengaged destroyer. The four beams intersected the destroyer, overwhelming its shield in short order and carving deep into its hull, allowing a salvo of missiles from the _Terran Sunrise_ to finish the ship off.

Meanwhile, the plasma torpedoes closed on the fleeing smaller ships, auto-cannons firing Disruptor shells at the orbs of super-hot matter, the small EMP bursts from the shells dispersing tiny amounts of plasma and slowly whittling down their overall effectiveness, but not by enough.

Two torpedoes struck the _Gorgon_, its EM shield, weaker than those onboard a cruiser, dispersed less than ten percent of the plasma before the torpedoes impacted. The plasma melted through the two metre armour with no trouble, engorging itself on the ships internal atmosphere, allowing it to keep burning through.

The destroyers reactor shut down and it began tumbling slowly, end over end, leaving a trail of rapidly cooling plasma and molten metal. Another destroyer and three more frigates were taken out of the fight at the same time.

The human cruisers fired their MACs again, the shells crossing paths with six inbound torpedoes aiming for the capital ships while five more went after the human frigates and destroyers as they started to come back around to bring their guns to bear on the aliens.

One alien destroyer was struck by a round each from the _Warrior_ and the _Dawn_ as the ships rail-guns entered into range and started firing, pummelling the destroyer until it stopped moving. Another was struck by a time-on-target salvo from the _Sunrise_, Archer missiles battering the shields down alongside a heavy MAC round. The rapid-fire rail-guns of the four heavy destroyers zeroed in on the suddenly vulnerable ship, punching small holes in the resilient purple armour.

The _Terran Sunrise _was struck by no less than five of the six plasma torpedoes aimed their way, the shields reducing their effectiveness enough so that the damage was equivalent instead to four torpedoes. It was still terrible, that many plasma torpedoes striking the same place so close together; four and half metres of armour boiled away and the _Sunrise_ lost its MAC and its bow engines as well as several rail-guns and missile pods.

The cruiser vented atmosphere, equipment and crew even as the alien ships, sensing blood, concentrated pulse lasers onto the wounded behemoth. Unhindered by the cruisers now non-existent bow armour, the lasers cored deep into the ship, setting off internal explosions.

The _Entropy_, as yet unengaged, flushed its missile pods and rail guns, twitching as just over a thousand missiles and hundreds of rail-gun slugs left the ship to pelt the last of the enemy destroyers, forcing the ship to focus on the flagship instead of the wounded cruiser.

Pulse lasers stabbed the thick hide of the carrier as the destroyer launched another plasma torpedo at the Sunrise, the remaining frigate and two cruisers following suit. The human frigates and destroyers re-engaged the destroyer attacking the flagship, half a dozen lower tonnage MAC rounds collapsing its shield and passing through the ship, Archer missiles finishing it off.

The _Terran Sunrise _fired a salvo missiles into the last frigate as more plasma torpedoes struck it, burning away more armour and setting off something vital in the human cruiser. Explosions rippled along the length of the ship, armour bulging outward, then the reactor went critical and the _Terran Sunrise _ceased to exist as anything recognisable, its death throes taking the _Absalom_, one of _Prometheus_' sister ships, with it.

The remaining heavy destroyers fired their PACs again, tearing the wounded enemy frigate apart and then firing their rail-guns on the alien cruisers.

The last two alien ships, both cruisers, swept pulse laser fire over the smaller human ships, crippling or destroying several, before the two human cruisers fired their main guns in unison, the massive shells shattering against the shield of one of the alien cruisers. Incredibly, the shield remained intact, and the cruiser fired a trio of plasma torpedoes in reply.

The _Analis_, another heavy destroyer, was struck by all three torpedoes on the bow, disabling the PAC and burning through several decks before the ships commander vented atmosphere in the affected areas, effectively stopping the progress of the plasma through his ship.

The besieged enemy cruiser fired two more torpedoes as a trio of frigates and two destroyers fired their main guns, finally battering down the shield and allowing hundreds of missiles and rail-gun rounds to perforate the thick hull.

Spewing atmosphere, the wounded alien cruiser fired its dorsal pulse lasers, taking down one of the frigates that had attacked it as one of the torpedoes tracked another frigate, burning away the fleeing ships main engine assembly and leaving it adrift.

The other torpedo burned through space, headed for the _Entropy_ itself. The flagship took evasive manoeuvres as the _Defiant Warrior _pushed forward, allowing it's thicker armour and stronger shields to take the torpedo, taking a minor hull breach and losing a pair of rail-guns in the process.

The second alien cruiser fired five torpedoes, each one seeking a different target among the smaller human ships as its pulse lasers fired in all directions. The damaged cruiser took a MAC round from the _December Dawn_, its bow crumpling inward. Pulse lasers from that ship raked over the _Dawn_'s hull in return, but the cruiser was suddenly speared by a pair of particle beams and pelted by rapid-fire rail-guns and missiles.

The ship finally succumbed, rending in two, the rear end detonating as the reactor was breached, blinding sensors and eyes all over the fleet. The last cruiser, realising its situation, concentrated all of its lasers onto the _Warrior_, coring through the cruisers thick portside armour and explosively decompressing a hangar bay.

Smaller MAC rounds bounced off of or shattered against the cruisers shield as it accelerated to ramming speed, heading for its human counterpart. Missiles streaked in, setting the shield aglow even as rail-gun slugs plinked off of it. Another MAC round from the _December Dawn _slammed into the shield, finally taking it down, but the ship wasn't going to stop.

Escape pods, fighters, dropships and shuttles fled the _Defiant Warrior_ as the alien ship closed rapidly, plasma collecting along its lateral lines before pulsing away, chasing down a pair of destroyers and killing the human ships.

The alien cruisers bow seemed almost to gently kiss the _Warriors_ side, the illusion shattered after a moment as the ship continued on, ploughing into the human ship. The two ships, alien and human, ugly and graceful, became one for a split second, and then a new sun birthed and they ceased to be.

The _Entropy_ listed away from the explosion, debris hammering its hull and tearing several new hull breaches. The shuddering lasted a long time, sending groans of protest through the carriers hull as the ship came close to tearing itself apart under the stress of such a large, close-by fusion detonation.

"Report," Admiral Schweiger cried out hoarsely as the shaking subsided, pulling himself slowly to his feet, blood running from his head and a dazed expression on his face. Holo-tank two - the one reserved for Cassandra - flickered dully, then shut down completely.

"We-we-we w-w-w-won," Cassandra's voice echoed over the speakers, stuttering terribly. "I-I-I-I think-ink-ink."

"Confirmed, sir," Satterfield's voice drew his attention. "We took heavy losses, including the _Warrior_ and the _Sunrise_, but the enemy fleet was neutralised. Just the two ships in orbit left."

Satterfield was leaning heavily against her chair, cradling her arm close to her side. Schweiger thought he saw bone poking through her uniform. The captain swallowed thickly, a pained expression on her face.

"Orders?"

Schweiger blinked stupidly at her, absently wondering if he was concussed. "All ships able to do so form up and…we lost two cruisers?"

He stumbled back to the floor, staring blankly at the tac-display. He couldn't remember a single engagement in the history of the UNSC that had cost more than one cruiser. He noted that out of the thirteen destroyers and eighteen frigates he had entered the system with, only five destroyers and seven frigates were still in reasonable shape. The rest had been either destroyed or crippled.

He blinked as tiny red blips circled around his remaining ships, blue blips intermingling with them.

"The fighters are still attacking us," he realised. "They just don't quit."

"Sir," Satterfield inclined her head at the display. "The last two enemy ships are slipping out. Harvest is ours again."

"Not yet, it isn't," Schweiger answered watching the two ships leave the system. "We still have aliens on the ground, I'm sure."

The admiral stood again, making his way over to the comms console, the ensign manning the station dead, her head bent at an unnatural angle.

"I'm contacting FLEETCOM for reinforcements," Schweiger informed the captain "Then we're going to commence Search And Rescue operations among the fleet before we take up orbit over Harvest."

&&&&&

**Covenant Battle-cruiser _Righteous Fury_  
Slipstream Space**

Ship Master Noranee marched the circumference of the bridge, huffing in anger. An Unggoy made the mistake of getting in his way and was promptly kicked halfway across the room.

Gorgus had cost them a fleet. A whole fleet! There were few enough ships in this region of space as it was, without some damned Jiralhanae throwing them away on a doomed exercise. And what of his brother? He had lost contact with Ota shortly before Gorgus engaged the humans.

Was he dead? Had the humans done the unthinkable and slain his brother? Or was he, even now, cursing Eta for running and giving the humans free reign over the system?

He would not know until he returned with greater numbers, and even then he may never know if he was too late and failed to save Ota.

"Damn you, Gorgus!," Noranee shouted, slamming his fist into one of the columns around the bridge and denting the alloy slightly, before slamming his fist into it again. "And damn you, Regret!"

He sagged against the pillar he was abusing, growling out more curses. The humans had outfought Gorgus spectacularly, crushing a force that should have been powerful enough to destroy them - would have been had he commanded it. Ordering his ships to attack in waves had to have been the single stupidest thing he had ever seen Gorgus do, which was saying a great deal.

"Well met, humans," Noranee whispered, standing straight. "But when next we meet, I shall crush you in a battle that will be spoken about for eons."


	7. Arrested

A/N: Sorry this took so long, I had some family matters to attend to and forgot I was posting here.

****

Twelve Colonies Of Kobol  
Picon Anchorage, Two Days Ago

Commander Jason Durant, short and somewhat rotund, with a rapidly fading hairline,  
walked slowly through the corridors of Picon Anchorage, the largest fleet base in the Colonies, carefully smoothing his immaculate uniform over and over again in a nervous gesture. The corridors bustled with crewmen, some bearing the marks of Anchorage workers, others with various insignias from their respective Battlestar Groups.

There was a great deal going on here, he thought absently, remembering seeing no less than six _Mercury_-class Battlestars and two _Zeus_-class Warstars as well as dozens of smaller ships surrounding the Anchorage during the brief Raptor ride from his _Cygnus_-class Firestar, a fine ship that served as the cruiser-sized workhorse of the Colonial fleet.

The only explanation was the planned offensive against the Covenant at Ceres. He didn't understand why he was here though; his ship came from BSG-71, which wasn't taking part in the offensive. He rounded a corner, mulling it over, and narrowly avoided a pair of Viper pilots jogging past.

Admiral Cain's office was just down here, he could see the door marked with the golden Phoenix and the designation BSG-62 CO from here. He reached the door, took a deep breath and smoothed his uniform again, then opened the old fashioned wooden door and stepped through into a small reception area.

He smiled and nodded at the receptionist behind her desk, chattering away on an intra-station telephone, and she nodded back, gesturing for him to take a seat. Durant moved to one of the few chairs in the room, an ugly, uncomfortable red plastic thing that could in no way be considered ergonomic.

He glanced around the room, taking in a small fern that drooped in the corner nearest the door, the Spartan furnishings consisting of two more chairs like the one in which he sat and a low coffee table with a smattering of magazines that were years out of date.

There were a few wall-mounted paintings, a photograph of the _Pegasus_, Cains flagship, and another photograph of Cain herself shaking hands with President Adar shortly after she had scored the first - and to date, only - complete victory against the Covenant.

The receptionist returned the phone to its cradle with a soft clatter, scribbled something down on a notepad, then looked up at Durant

"Commander Durant?" she queried, in a soft voice with a Gemonese accent. Durant nodded.

"The Admiral will see you now," she informed, then gestured to the dor that led through to Admiral Cains office. "Go on through."

"Thank you," Durant said, standing up and smoothing his uniform again. He made his way to the door across the small room, stood up straight and rapped his knuckles lightly on the wood.

"Enter," a muffled voice called from the other side, and Durant twisted the knob and stepped through. He shut the door behind him and snapped to attention, offering a salute.

"At ease, Commander," Admiral Cain said, returning the salute sharply. "Please, take a seat."

Wordlessly, Durant sat down in the proffered chair, noting with some satisfaction that it was much more comfortable than the one in the lobby. Before he could help himself, a puzzled expression crossed his features before he could school them. Cain noticed, and smirked slightly.

"I don't allow chairs on the CIC of _Pegasus_, Commander," Cain said, leaning back in her plush seat and watching for Durant's reaction. "Such comfortable surroundings can be a distraction in combat. I do, however, approve of chairs when off duty."

"I understand, ma'am," Durant felt the need to answer for some reason. "If I may, ma'am, why have you requested my presence here?"

"You have no family, correct?"

Durant squashed the emotion that rose inside him and answered. "Ma'am, my family was killed when the Covenant glassed the Hyperion settlement six months ago."

Cain observed him closely as he answered.

"What do you know about Command's planned offensive against the Covenant fleet at Ceres?" she asked after a moments' silence.

"Not much, ma'am," Durant was feeling more and more confused. "Just that it will be the largest fleet engagement against the aliens since the war began."

"And what are your personal feelings on this plan?" she said. "Be totally honest."

"I think it's a mistake, ma'am," Durant answered evenly. "I think we're going to lose a lot of ships, maybe even the whole fleet, and that it will ultimately be a useless gesture that costs us far more than it gains."

The room was silent for a long time, and Durant was starting to feel like he shouldn't have said that. But the admiral had told him to answer honestly and that was what he'd done. Cain pursed her lips, watching his face for a long while, then she smiled a little.

"Good," she said, standing. "That was my assessment also. Fortunately, I was able to convince Command to go for something a little more…subtle. This is where you come in, Commander."

"You have a special assignment for me, ma'am?"

"Yes, I do," Cain retrieved a manila folder from her desk. "I'm giving you command of a _Columbia_-class Battlestar that has been refitted with an all rail-gun armament and a new reactor and FTL drive."

Durant blinked several times in surprise. He was being given a battlestar. The refits were happening all over the fleet, auto-cannons were sorely lacking when it came to engaging Covenant ships and the flak cannons were useless against plasma and laser weapons, so all ships were being refitted with a pure anti-ship armament and would instead rely solely on Vipers for anti-fighter defence.

"This command does not come without a price, however," Cain continued. "The mission I have for you will be extremely high-risk; the chances of you or that ship coming back are virtually nil. But it will hurt the Covenant, and it will buy us time, for only a fraction of the cost of this ill-conceived assault at Ceres."

"I understand, ma'am," Durant said. "I volunteer myself for this mission."

"Good," Cain answered, handing the folder over to him. "If you hadn't, I would have ordered you to do it anyway."

Durant looked uneasily at the folder in his lap, and went to open it.

"Please, don't examine the contents until you have reached your new command," Cain instructed. "I'll have two of my own people onboard the _Arrestor_; they have their own assignment and are to be left alone at all times. I suggest you get a move on Commander, I've had the ships registry added to your firestar so you can locate it. She'll be waiting for you at Ragnar."

"Yes ma'am," Durant said, standing, coming to attention and saluting. Cain returned it crisply.

"Dismissed."

Durant about faced and left Cains office, passing through the reception area briskly, his head swimming with questions. He looked at the folder in his hands, considered opening it, then cast the thought aside and continued on his way. He had his orders.

&&&&&

**_Columbia_-class Battlestar Refit _Arrestor_  
Ceres System, Now**

Commander Durant slammed forward into the tactical table below the main DRADIS screens as the _Arrestors_ emergency thrusters kicked in. The battlestar dove forward and down relative to its prior position, the plasma torpedo narrowly missing the ships spine. Several rail-guns were slagged and a trail of molten alloys cooled in the passing torpedoes wake, leaving a shallow ditch in the old ships armour.

"Report!" he cried out as his ship righted itself again, the deck beneath his boots vibrating as rail-guns returned fire on the two Covenant frigates.

"Light damage," Colonel Cecily, the ships XO, answered. "We lost three rail-guns and have a minor hull breach."

The ship rocked again as it was struck by pulse lasers in its port landing bays and Tylium fuel reserved for the Vipers went up. The flight pod bulged outwards, armour plates ripping at the seams as gigantic rivets popped out at incredible velocity

"Sir, we need to jump now!" Cecily said, prompting Durant to shake his head.

"Not yet, we need to wait for word from Cains specialists," he answered, feeling his ship buck and groan around him as more pulse lasers struck.

"What the hell are they waiting for?"

Durant had no idea; the folder had stated that he was to go to Ceres, engage at least one Covenant ship, survive long enough for the specialists to complete their mission, then jump to a set of co-ordinates provided in the folder. He understood that it was all part of Cains strategy, but what that strategy was, he'd no clue.

"This is Lieutenant Saaren, the device is ready, jump now," a voice crackled over the CIC's speakers.

_Device? _Durant thought. _What bloody device?_

Unknown to him, Cains specialists had brought aboard a piece of alien technology: a tracking device the Covenant had planted on a wounded battlestar some months ago. The device had been recovered and turned off, but not in time save the Hyperion settlement and the one hundred fifty thousand people there.

The Covenant had used the same tactic at least one other time, and it was hoped the aliens here would assume it was a device that had been malfunctioning for some time and finally re-activated itself, prompting them to follow the ship after it jumped.

"Alright," Durant said. "All hands, this is the Commander, brace for FTL jump on my mark."

Durant nodded to Cecily and began counting down from ten in his head.

Eight…

A trio of pulse laser blasts tore a gash in the battlestars side.

Six…

Vipers crashed hard onto the deck of the remaining flight pod

Four…

A plasma torpedo grazed the _Arrestors_ nose, melting through the armour and exposing several decks to vacuum.

Two…

A pulse laser struck the _Arrestors_ engine assembly, the bluish glow of one of the giant thrusters died.

"Mark!" Durant all but shouted, and the ships overhauled and enhanced FTL drive and reactors flung it more than twenty light-years in the blink of an eye…straight over the Red Line.

&&&&&

**Cylon Raider #118-092-452  
Patrolling the Red Line**

Like hundreds of its brother Raiders, 452 had been patrolling all along the perimeter of the Red Line - the border between Cylon and Colonial territories - for most of its life. Modern Cylon technology was based on a hybrid of biological and mechanical parts, and while most of the Infiltrator models thought of the Raiders as relatively mindless machines, it was far from the truth.

452 was eight months, twenty-one days, sixteen hours and forty-two minutes old and had spent more than ninety percent of its life patrolling the same section of space over and over and over. During that time, it had never logged anything more interesting than an errant asteroid escaping from this systems field.

As a partially biological construct, 452 was vulnerable to certain weaknesses that otherwise wouldn't have bothered it if it were completely machine - it was bored, terribly so. It's mission clock told it that it was almost twenty minutes ahead of schedule, which gave it time for a little luxury.

452's thrusters burned white-hot as it set off its after-burners, and it rocketed toward the nearby asteroid field, straining hard, and suddenly tumbled through the first few asteroids, missing them by metres. 452 commenced a brief ballet among the rocks, ducking and weaving around the smaller ones, squeezing between cracks and crevices of larger ones.

For 452, it was exhilarating, the closest it had ever been to real combat. It almost didn't notice the sudden appearance of a large new DRADIS contact, and when the object resolved itself on the sensors and 452 realised what it was seeing, a rush of adrenalin spiked through it's system.

A Colonial capital ship; a battlestar! Finally, something interesting was going to happen! 452 quickly ran the numbers, calculating it's odds of survival against a battlestar. They weren't good.

Not that it mattered, really. 452's mission parameters were quite clear: in the event that positive contact were to be made with a Colonial ship, it was to jump to the nearest Basestar or Patrolstar and seek reinforcements.

With a final, longing look at the battlestar, 452 spun up its FTL and jumped out-system.

&&&&&

**Covenant Battle-cruiser _Righteous Fury_  
Following the lesser human capital ship  
Ship Master Eta Noranee commanding**

Noranee clacked his lower mandibles together hard in frustration as the Fury ploughed through slip-space in pursuit of the human 'battlestar'. The ships commander was quickly beginning to fill with the second part of the venerable battle-cruisers name, the Prophets had deemed him 'unfit' to take the fight to this dangerous new enemy and had instead sent him to oversee the front with what many who knew of the other humans were calling 'lesser humans'.

He had been ready to send the two frigates that had engaged the fleeing vessel originally when the Lower Hierarch, Sorrow, had ordered him to hunt down the ship personally, believing it to be heading toward another outpost. To Noranee, it was suspiciously good timing to have a tracking device activate on a ship that had suicidally attacked his fleet right before it jumped out of the system.

Sorrow had seen it as sign from the Gods, one that told him that the humans needed to be exterminated with all due haste. Noranee snorted; of course the fool had thought that. As a purely military commander, Noranee's instinct told him that he was heading into a trap. The battle-cruiser was a mighty ship, and the two frigates accompanying him were formidable ships in their own right, but something nagged at the commander.

"These humans are primitive," Noranee murmured to Bola Ipanoramee, the Ossoona the Hierarchs had sent to 'watch over' him since the events surrounding his departure from the human world Harvest. The Prophets had been troubled by Noranee's growing dissent with their rule and wanted to have some insurance handy, as a precaution. "But they are not stupid. I've no doubt that they have something prepared for us at our destination."

"Perhaps," the impassive Ossoona replied. "But the Hierarchs ordered you to follow and destroy them, and that is what you will do."

"Yes," Noranee replied. "It is what I will do. But, this notion that the humans are stupid troubles me. Many believe the humans to be mindless drones."

"And you believe otherwise?"

"I do," Noranee said thoughtfully. "I have been involved in more engagements with the humans than any other two ship masters. The humans primitive technology is their downfall; after seeing their tactics and tenacity for myself, I believe that if we were technologically on par with one another, this war would be going very differently indeed."

"Take care what you say, Ship Master," Ipanoramee growled, low and dangerous. "You come dangerously close to heresy."

"Perhaps," Noranee conceded. "You did not see these other humans, though. They annihilated Gorkus' forces quickly and still had enough strength to destroy this ship and Regrets' own carrier."

"Gorkus was an idiot."

"Yes, but had he gone into combat with the humans we now pursue, the technology he wielded would have been enough to overwhelm them."

Noranee face the Ossoona. "The humans used tactics to their advantage, and their technology was great enough to do the rest. Honourable combat with them would be the greatest glory of all."

"Honour?" snorted Ipanoramee. "A human does not know such a thing."

"Perhaps," Noranee said again, his voice sounding slightly bitter. "It is unlikely I will find out anytime soon; the Hierarchs have confined me to this front indefinitely. I've no doubt that the humans have slain my brother and my right to vengeance has been destroyed by the Prophets."

The Ossoona growled quietly again at the near-heresy; to imply that the Prophets would do anything to tarnish the honour of a warrior that still deserved the right to be called one was almost as bad as implying that the Exalted Ones were not the true voice of the Gods. Ipanoramee had slain a number of such heretics over the course of his warrior career. As an Ossoona, his job now was to observe only, except under certain special circumstances.

"Ship Master," an Unggoy rating squeaked. "We will be exiting the slipstream momentarily."

"Very well," Noranee answered the call. "Prepare to raise shields and activate our energy projectors."

"At once."

The energy projectors were the most powerful energy weapons available to the Covenant and using them on a ship as relatively fragile as a battlestar was the very definition of the word 'overkill', but Noranee was not about to take any chances.

He had witnessed the other humans using a similar, although much less powerful, weapon against Gorkus. It had been a surprise for him - undoubtedly more so for the ships struck with the weapon.

The ship transitioned to real-space smoothly, the shields springing to life around the battle-cruiser as the two frigates followed on in a burst of greenish light and radiation. The _Fury_'s sensors swept space all around, searching for the human ship it had been sent to destroy, logging asteroids and the energy profiles of the frigates as their own shields activated.

"Human ship located, Ship Master," the Unggoy said. "Two smaller ships also detected, unknown profiles."

"Show me," Noranee growled, and immediately a holographic representation of the three ships appeared before him. The human ship he had followed was lit by flashes as it fired it's weapons at the two smaller ships, fighter craft boiling forth from all three and engaging each other mercilessly. The smaller ships were long and thin, shaped like a Y, fighters swarming from the top-most prongs and missiles birthing from the lower, longer arm.

One of them was struck by rail-gun rounds by the human ship, its apparently fragile hull crumpling and lit by explosions. Missiles streaked from the wounded vessel, tags appearing around them to indicate that they were nuclear in nature and human fighters immediately began targeting them, shooting down all but one. Noranee watched with interest as the final missile forged on, unopposed by the normal flak screens the human ships threw up as a defence.

It detonated in a burst of light and radiation, momentarily blinding the sensors before the human ship reappeared leaking debris and atmosphere from a large rent in its side, still firing.

"Intensive scans on those unknown ships, now," Noranee ordered, and ratings hastily complied as he pondered what he was seeing. Were these aliens, possibly worthy of absorbing into the Covenant? Or was it yet more humans, and he was simply glimpsing into a civil war?

"Scan complete," the Unggoy punched up the results on the holographic overview, and Noranee leaned forward to examine it. The readings were hazy, like there was some kind of interference coming from the two Y-shaped ships, but the results were unmistakeable: there were humans aboard those ships. Very few humans given the size of the vessels, just six of them between the two ships, but his orders were clear; all humans had to die.

Noranee's mandible twitched, he didn't understand why the humans were fighting each other and he didn't like that at all. "Target the battlestar first, fire the projectors when ready."

The human battlestar rolled in an attempt to bring its undamaged side to bear on the Y-ships, but didn't get far as two pencil-thin beams erupted from the nose of the _Righteous Fury_, spearing the ship and cutting clean through it like it wasn't even there. The beams played over the battlestar for a few seconds, severing power feeds, armour and crewmen alike. The battlestars running lights flickered intermittently, then shut down completely as the blue glow of the engines died.

"Projectors will recharge in thirty seconds," the Unggoy rating manning the weapons console said. "Human missiles inbound from the remaining ships."

"Order the frigates to deal with them."

&&&&&  
**  
Cylon Patrolstar # 009-918-714  
Engaging hostile forces at the border**

"Those bastards," the Six said, her beautiful features contorted into a rictus of anger. "I can't believe they did this!"

The Cylons knew of the aliens decimating the Colonials, of course, and had been carefully patrolling the Red Line to watch for any of these aliens penetrating their border. Until now, no sign had been seen of the Covenant.

"The humans led them straight to us," the One sneered. "You can't expect anything better from those animals."

Six watched the two alien frigates closing in on them, shrugging off anti-ship missiles and nuclear warheads alike as Raiders pummelled their shields with projectiles and smaller missiles. Pulse lasers raked the already damaged Patrolstar, cracking the fragile ship in half and setting off secondary explosions in the ships interior.

"We can't stay here," Six said in return, seething. "We can't hope to win this. All we can do is jump away and pray they don't pursue us."

"I agree," the One said reluctantly.

"Order the Raiders to ram the enemy frigates," Six commanded. "And we will leave and alert the others."

The Patrolstar winked out of existence, leaving behind dozens of Raiders who immediately began ramming into the shield of one of the frigates. Again the shield shrugged off the impacts as the ship fired pulse lasers, sweeping numerous Cylon fighters from space around it.

Cylon Raider #118-092-452 watched as the other Raiders were torn from the sky, safe in the knowledge that they would be reborn - a Resurrection Ship was within range. But 452 wanted to actually harm these ships before it was resurrected. Quickly spooling its FTL drive, 452 went to maximum burn away from the frigates, getting some distance between it and them before turning back around.

452 jumped, its hasty calculations proving accurate as it reappeared instantly - _inside_ one of the Covenant frigates. The laws of physics kicked in as 452 tried to break them by trying to occupy the exact same space as the frigate at the same time, and 452 died in an explosion within the ship, killing dozens of aliens and causing considerable damage to the frigates delicate internals.

&&&&&

Noranee clacked his mandibles in surprise as the frigate Redemption suddenly listed as its commander reported internal damage. He had seen what had happened, but could hardly believe it. The small fighter had used the same kind of faster-than-light travel as the large human ships to bypass the frigates shield somehow and caused damage as it rematerialised not only inside the shield, but inside the actual ship.

"Finish these human fighters," Noranee gestured to the remaining handful of Vipers from the ruined battlestar. "And get me into contact with the Hierarchs, they must know about this."


	8. Section Three

****

March 19th, 2525  
Office of Naval Intelligence building  
Reach

Michael Dunston strolled through the winding corridors with ease. The place was like a maze, but the spook had been here often enough that he knew his way around. He was headed for the basement, or, more specifically, a small room in the basement that led to an elevator that would take him almost eight hundred metres below the surface of Reach.

As he made his way deeper into the facility, noting that there were fewer and fewer people around the as he went, he thought back to the events onboard the cruiser sixteen days ago. He could have handled it better than he did, but that Captain Davian had been unwilling to listen to anything he said, by virtue of his being a spook no doubt.

He pushed through a door marked B-1, letting it close itself behind him and immediately made his way to a bank of elevators. He tapped the call button and a moment later a carriage arrived on its magnetic rails. He stepped in, pressed a button marked B-6 and waited pertinently as the lift made its way swiftly to the lowest part of the above facility.

The facility he was leaving was there for Section One and Section Two, but buried far beneath the main complex was the underground bunker that contained the near-mythical Section Three. The elevator doors parted and Dunston stepped out into the underground storage area. He made his way almost sixty metres from the lift, headed towards the back of the vast cavern, idly noting boxes and crates filled with anything from staples and other assorted office supplies to weapons and ammunition for the facilities defensive teams - two squads of the elite Orbital Drop Shock Troopers and four squads of UNSCMC Marines on rotation.

Turning left just ten metres shy of the end of the basement, Dunston picked his way carefully around stacks of crates arranged in an almost maze-like fashion before finally coming to a blank section of wall seven feet tall and five feet wide. He turned to face the crate on his right and pushed against one of the wooden panels gently, then another and several more in sequence.

A small section of the wall opened and a tiny camera appeared with a palm pad and retinal scanner beneath it. Dunston stepped up to the camera.

"Please state your name and authorisation code," an automated voice requested in a feminine voice.

"Dunston, Michael J. Authorisation Delta-Mike-Oh-Oh-Nine-Seven-One-One-Seven-Five-Three-Six-Three-Sierra-Tango," Dunston recited from memory.

"Authorised," the computer said. "Please place your palm to the pad below."

Dunston did so and bluish -green light warm the palm of his hand for several seconds with a quiet hum. The computer processed the data quickly, comparing Dunston's palm print with those on file.

"Authorised. Please place your eye over the retinal scanner below."

Again the spook complied, resting his eye no less than a centimetre from the canning device. Bright light blinded him momentarily as the scanner checked his eye against records, then the light shut off and Dunston blinked away the spots.

"Authorised," the computer confirmed, the camera, palm pad and retinal scanner retracting into the wall and a small opening appeared, just wide enough for Dunston to fit through.

Stepping through the opening, he was greeted by a room ten by ten feet across, with the 'Shredder' hanging from the ceiling, pointed straight at him. The Shredder was the affectionate name given to the twin-linked gatling-style belt fed shotguns that welcomed any unauthorised intruders that made it past the external security. They had a respectable firing rate of six hundred rounds each, and would make mincemeat of anything trying to force entry to Section Three.

Lasers swept over his body and face, building an image of him that would be matched again with his profile, this time controlled by a human operator hidden behind the fourteen-inch titanium doors behind the Shredder. After several seconds the lasers shut off and the Shredder retracted into the ceiling, the door it guarded swinging slowly open on massive hinges.

Dunston walked through the door, nodding to the four ODSTs and the security operator behind his glass partition as he made for a single elevator that would take him through layers of rock and titanium to Section Three.

&&&&&

**March 19th, 2525  
Myrmidon-class Carrier _Entropy_, 42nd Task Force Flagship  
Sick-bay Three**

Awaking from feverish nightmares with a start, Corporal Anthony Ellis croaked out in pain as blinding bright white lights stabbed lances of agony into his skull. He squeezed his eyes shut and lay back down in his bed, wondering where the hell he was and how he got here.

"Take it easy, buddy," an unfamiliar voice said from somewhere close by, and Ellis turned his head in the direction he thought it had come from.

"W-water," Ellis croaked, his throat dry and tongue grating like sandpaper across his dry, cracked lips. He opened his eyes carefully, hearing water poured into a glass, and tried to focus on his unknown companion.

"You guys took a real beating down there," the voice said, a blurry shape moving toward the Corporal. "There's still some pretty nasty fighting going on, but it's mostly just mopping up now. Here."

The shape held a vaguely glass like object out to him and carefully tipped some water into Ellis' mouth. He slurped greedily, feeling the cool liquid soothe his throat somewhat then choked and coughed, spluttering.

"Easy, man," the voice said. "Name's Andrew. Andrew Smart."

"Ellis," the injured man said, working up the strength to reach for the glass himself. "Where…where am I?"

"You're onboard the _Entropy_, a carrier," Smart said. "Specifically, you're in Sick-bay Three, lying in a cot and recovering."

"How long?" Ellis asked, sipping at the water more carefully now and sitting up a little as strength returned to him. His eyesight had cleared up enough that he could now make out Smart's features. He wasn't a small guy, Ellis noted, taking in the cast around the other mans left leg.

"About three days, you were pretty bad when they brought you in," Smart replied. "Wish I was down there giving those bastards hell for what they did to my ship."

"Your ship?" Ellis said. "You aren't posted here?"

Smart shook his head. "I was on the _Defiant Warrior_, she was a cruiser. She's gone now. I'm here for my leg, visiting my buddy over there."

He gestured to a cot two spaces further along, containing the unconscious form of one David Carter.

"Most of us made it off of her when she went up," Smart continued. "But there were a lot of injured people. SAR teams are still pulling people out of damaged ships, some alive, most not. No one gets left behind, oo-rah."

"Oo-rah," Ellis agreed, taking in this new information.

"Ships have been trickling in for days, frigates, destroyers, carriers and countless civilian freighters," Smart said, sitting down in an uncomfortable chair beside Ellis' cot. "SECDEF commissioned them to start hauling out civvies, they're abandoning Harvest as anything but a military world. Hospital ships and constructors are already here. There are defence satellites being dropped into orbit right now."

"How do you know all this?" Ellis asked, looking at his new friend oddly. The other man grinned and shrugged.

"I've got friends everywhere."

Ellis nodded sceptically, laying back down and closing his eyes. He moved his hand up to his face, let it hover above the bandages for a moment, then let it drop back down onto the sheets.

"I'd like to get some sleep, if you don't mind," Ellis said. Smart nodded once, stood and returned to his bedside vigil for his engineer friend.

&&&&&

**ONI, Section Three  
Office of Deputy Director Anson Welles**

"Our analysts have been reviewing the sensor logs from the _Defiant Warrior_," Anson Welles, Deputy Director for Section Three, said to Dunston. "They've determined that a ship of unknown origin fled the system shortly after the battle, and using the few seconds of sensor data available, compiled this image."

Welles tossed a photograph across his mahogany desk to Dunston, who was sitting across from him in a rather plush leather chair. Dunston examined the photograph, noting that it was computer render formed by the momentary LIDAR readings the cruiser had gotten of the unknown ship. It was a little smaller than a standard Pelican dropship, with two fins for aerodynamic stability in an atmosphere located to the rear above a pair of large thrusters.

A bubble at the front of the ship formed the cockpit and a pair of stubby wings projected out of either side of the craft.

"It has also been determined that whomever these people are, they have evidently gotten on the Covenant's bad side as well," Welles continued, sipping from a steaming mug of coffee.

"Covenant, sir?" Dunston queried, looking up from the photograph and arching an eyebrow.

"Hacked communications indicate that that is what these aliens call themselves," Welles nodded. "Most of what we heard was gibberish, translators are working on it now, but some of the intercepted transmissions were in English. I was informed that the communications were so poorly encrypted that they didn't even require an AI to break."

"So we know they have poor comm. security," Dunston said. "That should give us a small edge over them."

"There are salvage ships picking over the debris from the battle at Harvest. Not much was left intact, but I'm confident we'll find something worthwhile," Welles added. "Meanwhile, Insurrectionist activities in that area have been increasing recently. Two suicide bombings on Novus, a car bomb on Summer Bay and a group of armed Innies killed better than sixty people on a small luxury liner and took the ship for themselves, no doubt to be armed and used against us in some way or another."

Welles had another sip of his coffee, sheafing through papers before finding what he was looking for and handing the folder to Dunston. Looking inside, the spook found transfer papers and a ticket on a liner that would take him to Novus in two days time.

"You're being reassigned to Project Aesir on Novus," Welles informed him. "You're going to be training a dozen recruits in counter-terrorism tactics, along side three other operatives who will each be handling their own trainees. Those recruits have already been trained in advanced urban ops and have rudimentary CT experience, as well as years of combat experience, but I want them in top form for when they make their move against the Innies."

"I understand, sir," Dunston said, taking it in stride; when you worked for Section Three, it was best not ask questions.

&&&&&

**Harvest, Surface**

"Enemy tank!" someone cried out, and Sergeant Johnson cursed and ducked low. Most of the alien forces had been wiped out by massive reinforcements for the Marines, but there were still enough around to cause problems.

"Private Calhoun, you still alive?" Johnson called out to the fire teams tank hunter, armed with a shoulder launched M119-B 80mm kinetic missile launcher the young man was well equipped for the job.

"Yes, sir!" the Private shouted back. Johnson's original team had been wiped out, but he'd met up with another team that was lacking a sergeant, a corporal and down two privates whilst delivering Ellis to a cas-evac bird and had promptly taken command.

The team was crouched behind a low wall, the enemy tank painting the wall with plasma bursts from its anti-infantry plasma gun while the mortar launcher hammered another group of Marines further down the street.

"Okay, son, you need to get a shot over this wall" Johnson said. "Private Lennox will provide a diversion."

"I will?" the other man said in surprise.

"Yeah, now get out there and divert. Don't miss, Calhoun."

"At this range, that'll be impossible," Calhoun replied proudly. Johnson huffed.

"I've seen you shoot son, nothing's impossible. Get to it, Marines."

Cursing wildly, Lennox leapt to his feet and sprinted down the length of the low wall, the plasma gun tracking him slowly, globs of molten plasma kicking up less than a foot behind the private.

As soon as Lennox took off, Calhoun raised the launcher, essentially a downsized shoulder-launched Gauss cannon, sighted on the tank as it turned slowly and fired. The slug travelled along the superconducting coils and exited the weapons barrel at Mach 10, slamming into the side of the blue tank and punching clean through the armour and obliterating a car on the other side of it. One of the tanks anti-gravity pods died out and the front right hand 'wing' dug into the ground.

Another round cycled from four round revolver set-up of the launcher and dropped into the firing chamber, and Calhoun fired again. The second round crumpled the armoured hide inward and punctured the small power core running the tank, resulting in a rather pretty blue-tinged explosion.

"Ha, take that you bastards!" Johnson crowed, grinning and slapping Calhoun on the shoulder. The private pitched forward, pulling the trigger a third time by accident and turning a comm. booth across the street into confetti.

"Son," Johnson said dryly. "Put that thing down before you hurt yourself."

&&&&&

**Raptor 225, _Valkyrie_ Scout Compliment  
Conducting Search Operations  
Jump 8**

The little scout craft cruised along at a modest speed, sensors sweeping space around it as its crew searched for signs of life. So far today they had performed eight of their scheduled ten jumps and, like the days before, had found nothing.

"Standby for jump number nine," Lieutenant Samuel Acoura said to his crew, boredom lacing his voice. "On my mark."

Each star system required only a short while to determine if there was any intelligent life to be found, which expedited the speed of searching them. Since first beginning the operation, the _Valkyrie_'s Raptors had searched almost a dozen light-years in all directions from the point where the first alien ship had been seen.

"Why are we even out here again?" Lieutenant Carrie Lowman, operating the DRADIS screens and FTL drive groaned.

"Because we were ordered to come out here," Acoura replied. "And you heard the Old Man when we first got out here. He said that there was something out here that could help us beat back the Covenant. Remember the vid of that ship busting the Covenant destroyer?"

"Yeah," Lowman said bitterly. "More frakking aliens, just what we need."

"Well, they're no friends of the Covenant from what I saw of that vid," Acoura returned, yawning a little. "The enemy of my enemy and all that."

"Whatever, are we going to do this or what?"

"Right," Acoura confirmed. "In three…two…one…mark!"

With a brief hum and a flash of light that filled the cockpit, the Raptor left the empty system behind and almost instantly arrived at their next destination.

"Gods! Pull up!" Lowman cried out a second after they completed the jump, and the little ship jerked wildly straight up relative to its previous location as a chunk of metal twenty times the mass of the Raptor tumbled past.

"DRADIS is going crazy," Lowman reported as the craft continued dodging around, under, over and in between more melted and shattered material. "I think this is some kind of graveyard."

"Look at that," Acoura whispered, sounding awed. Lowman looked up from her console and did a double take at what she saw: the front end of a Covenant ship tumbling through space, its hull torn and shattered where it had been sheared in half. Acoura passed close by the ruined ship, playing a searchlight over its charred and malformed purple hull.

"I'm getting us out of this debris field," Acoura said, his ship rising up 'above' the graveyard. He turned it around, nose camera recording video footage whilst another took still photographs. "Wow. Must have been one hell of a fight here."

"Heads up," Lowman called out. Now free of the debris field, she could accurately read her DRADIS screen. "Multiple contacts closing in fast; fighters, I think."

"Prep FTL for emergency jump," Acoura said distractedly, eyes still on the debris field that seemed to stretch on into infinite. Not much of the debris was clustered together, so he couldn't see it all, but he counted at least half a dozen more Covenant ships and a roughly equal number of unknowns. "We've got what we came for, now we should get the frak out of here."

"Definitely," Lowman agreed, nodding her head. "FTL spooling, time 'til jump ten seconds."

Acoura nodded, turning the Raptor away from the dead ships and heading away from the inbound fighters, trying to buy them time for the FTL to spool and allow them to jump to safety.

"Fighters still closing, intercept time a little over thirty seconds," Lowman said. "We'll be long gone by then."

"Yeah. I wonder what the Old Man's next move will be," Acoura mused aloud and then the tiny craft jumped away, disappearing off of the sensors of the closing Rapier interceptors and leaving behind five confused pilots.


	9. Dynamic Duo

****

Cylon Basestar #411-090-091  
System # 427-566  
Protecting Mining Outpost #331-012

Raiders erupted from the fleshy hangars of the basestar in an endless stream as the alien ships closed in on the mining facility. The basestar had been assigned to watch over the facility as news of the Covenant spreading through Cylon territory had reached the homeworld.

Consensus had been reached that the newest basestars would protect the bases and facilities closest to the homeworld whilst the older, circular basestars were assigned to those that were further away. No one had expected the aliens to find a facility so close to the homeworld so fast - they had bypassed almost two dozen other facilities to reach this one.

Small teardrop shaped fighters from the two Covenant frigates raced out to meet the Raiders , but despite their shields and energy weapons ,they were so massively outnumbered that the fight was over in just a few minutes. Pulse lasers swept over the closing Raider formations, annihilating whole squadrons in the blink of an eye as the frigates aimed their bows toward the basestar.

As the Raiders closed in on the frigates, anti-fighter and anti-ship missiles streaked from their fuselages, detonating against the ships shields and causing them to flicker and strobe as they absorbed and deflected the energy from the warheads. The missiles had no appreciable effect, so the bio-Cylons on the basestar sent the Raiders in closer to pummel the ships shields with cannon fire while the basestar turned itself broadside on to the incoming warships.

High Explosive missiles poured out of the racks along the sides of the basestars long arms, with a modest number of nuclear warheads mixed in for variety. Pulse lasers switched from targeting the annoying but non-threatening Raiders to the inbound missiles, the powerful multi-purpose weapons taking a heavy toll on the basestars fire, but inevitably some got through.

The targeted frigate lit up with explosions across its shield seconds before disappearing behind a blinding light as a trio of low-yield tactical nukes struck. Though the ship disappeared from sensors, the basestar was taking no chances and fired a second salvo, this time weighed down with nukes. The frigate emerged on DRADIS from behind the intense radiation burst, pulse lasers firing quickly as they tried to take down the missiles.

"They're not shooting at us," a Three on the basestar said, observing the fight.

"What?" a One snarked. "So what? God is on our side."

"Don't be a fool," a Six replied, sneering at the One. "If they aren't shooting at us, there must be a reason. We're well within their effective range."

"There is a reason," One said smugly, prompting the Six to send him a filthy look. On the view screen, the frigate faded from view behind nuclear detonations and radiation fuzzed out the DRADIS readings again. The Infiltrators observed the fight outside closely, watching as the two alien ships ripped through the attacking Raiders and shot down incoming missiles, their shields shrugging off the few that got through.

Fresh fighters spawned from the alien frigates, this time staying close to their motherships and supporting the pulse lasers in taking down the Cylon ships. Raiders were dropping like flies under the renewed fighter assault, and One made a decision.

"All Raiders, suicide attack those ships," One said, the orders relayed quickly and the remaining Cylon fighters instantly accelerated and rammed into the shields of the Covenant ships as the basestar fired another salvo of high-explosive missiles.

"What are you doing?" Six protested. "We should have recalled them and jumped out. How long until we can use the FTL?"

"We won't be doing that," One replied. "Those ships aren't a threat to us, so we're going to stay here and finish them off."

"What?" Three said, surprised. "You can't do that! We have no idea why they aren't shooting at us, but that doesn't mean they're not a threat."

"You have to have consensus," Six said. "I vote we leave, and so does Three."

"We can't have consensus," One answered. "Because our three models are the only ones onboard."

"And who engineered that, I wonder?" Six growled "There are protocols for this kind of situation. You have been outvoted; we're jumping."

"Wait," Three interrupted. "Look, new contacts coming from the bigger ships. They're heading right for us."

"What are they?" Six said, turning to face the DRADIS screens as Three punched up an external view from one of the basestars hull-mounted cameras. Maybe two dozen long, cylindrical ships were streaking across space towards the Cylon ship, each accompanied by a pair of alien fighters.

"I think…I think they are some kind of troopship," Three replied, squinting at the image.

"Boarding craft," Six realised, horror overcoming her features. "They weren't shooting at us because they want to board us."

"Spin up the FTL and get us out of here," she said, turning back to face One and the Hybrid in its tank. A slight shudder ran through the deck beneath their feet and a muffled clank echoed through the halls of the ship.

"Too late," Three murmured. "Activate the Centurions and tell them to get ready to fight off boarders."

&&&&&

Zora Zomanee clacked his mandibles in anticipation as he checked his plasma rifle again. His boarding craft contained himself, a fellow Sangheili, four Kig'Yar and a dozen Unggoy, all ready to board the Unclean vessel.

The craft made contact with the hull of the ship and plasma cutters began coring through the metal, making an opening through which the warriors of the Covenant would spill into the alien vessel, ready to take the control centre and hopefully retrieve the navigational data that would allow them to annihilate the human infestation in this sector of the galaxy, allowing them to concentrate on the other humans.

The circular doorway of the boarding craft slid open, revealing darkness on the other side of the hatch, and Unggoy streamed out of the craft to form a defensive line while the Sangheili and Kig'Yar followed. The little creatures tittered and chattered excitedly as they waved around plasma pistols and needlers.

Zomanee clambered out of the craft behind them, followed closely by the red armoured unit commander, grasping a carbine in his large hands.

"Zomanee," the commander growled. "Take your unit and head left, I will be going right with mine."

Zomanee bowed slightly to the senior Sangheili, then gestured for the two Kig'Yar and half-dozen Unggoy that made up his unit to follow him. Zomanee had been a warrior only a few short months, and had seen precious little combat in that time. His dark blue novice's armour attested to that fact.

Still, he was a Sangheili, as well trained and eager for battle as any of his kind, and the darkness and stale air of this area of the ship was not going to dissuade him from his task. He rolled his tongue, mandibles flaring slightly in distaste. Was this a little used part of the ship? What other reason could there be for such stale air?

The Kig'Yar took point, the Unggoy close behind with Zomanee in the middle of the standard formation, protected from fire by the bodies of the lesser species. The unit made swift progress through thew wide corridors, glow of their weapons emitters and the Kig'Yar's shields banishing the darkness with the aid of small lamps that each Unggoy carried and a shoulder mounted light on Zomanee's armour.

The lamp packs weren't standard kit, but it was a common tactic for defenders to cut power, gravity and even life support to areas of a ship during boarding actions, and as such the boarding teams had been equipped with magnetic boots, rebreather units and the lamps.

Somewhere ahead, covered by thick darkness, there was the clatter of metal on metal. Zomanee tensed as he heard it, checked his rifle again, then gestured the Kig'Yar forward.

"Tread carefully," the warrior hissed. "Be prepared to engage the enemy."

The Kig'Yar hissed and squawked in response, their heads swivelling in quick, jerky movements as their large eyes strained against the cloying shadows. Zomanee's lamp played over one of the walls, the strange material shining dully under the light, and he reached out a massive hand gingerly, touching the material.

His hand recoiled and he growled in distaste; the wall felt damp and fleshy, almost like it was alive.

"Leader!" one of his Unggoy said. "Look!"

The diminutive creature pointed its stubby finger into the darkness ahead, gesturing to a red light that strobed back and forth. Another appeared beside it, and another and the clank of metal on metal began anew as the strobing lights crept closer.

"Me have bad feeling 'bout this," another Unggoy whimpered, just before a series of loud reports rang out and the hallway ahead lit up with yellow fire, projectiles ripping into the Covenant team.

A heavy round struck Zomanee's shield as he raised his plasma rifle and fire a burst, aiming for the flashes of chrome revealed by the gunfire. A pair of Unggoy were cut down shrieking as the Kig'Yar opened fire as well, safe for the moment behind their shields.

Plasma boiled down the corridor, striking metal and melting through with apparent ease - some kind of body armour? Zomanee shook the question from his thoughts and crouched behind the Kig'Yar, allowing their shield gauntlets to take the fire. A lucky shot got past the shield and struck on of the Kig'Yar's hands, the alien crying out in pain and shifting the shield enough for several more rounds to get through, punching holes in its chest.

Zomanee's rifle whined in his hands, blue plasma lashed one of the attacking metal creatures, melting through armour and exposing circuitry. The things strobing 'eye' flash once and it tumbled backwards. High calibre bullets punched into Zomanee's shield and he rolled to the left, coming up spraying plasma at his attackers as more Unggoy fell under the barrage. Several bolts hit the wall, and the stench of burning flesh invaded the warriors nostrils.

Another of the Unclean abominations fell under fire from two Unggoy, and Zomanee brought down the last one with a burst of fire to the head. He stood cautiously, his shield recharging, and sneered at the smouldering beasts.

Machines, he realised. The damned apes were using machines to fight for them. Had they no honour?

"Gather anything useful," he ordered. "And let's keep moving."

The remaining Unggoy hurried to comply, picking up dropped weapons and lamps from their fallen comrades. Zomanee stepped over a corpse and examined the wall where it had been struck by plasma. Blood oozed from the impact site.

He clacked his mandibles in surprise. The inside of the ship seemed to actually be organic. As far as he knew, no human had made use of such technology before. This mission was rapidly raising quite a few questions, but as a warrior of the Covenant, it was not Zomanee's place to ask them.

"Excellency, we ready," one of the surviving Unggoy reported, and Zomanee nodded and gestured for them to move out. They didn't need to be told twice. The group made good time through the wide corridors, encountering no further resistance but occasionally coming across evidence of a fire fight. Without warning, the deck heaved beneath Zomanee's hooves and he lurched forward, barely retaining his balance. What was that?

&&&&&

"We've jumped to empty space in between star systems, hopefully they won't find us long enough for us to deal with the boarders," Three reported. "The aliens are making swift progress; their weapons appear to be very effective against the Centurions armour."

"Of course," Six responded. "They weren't designed with energy weapons in mind. Once this is over, we must gather up as much technology as possible. It could advance us hundreds of years."

"Fool," One snarled. "We have all the tools and technology we need, as God intended."

"With the aliens technology," Three snapped back. "We could push the Covenant back and wipe out the Colonials once and for all."

Gunfire echoed throughout the room from what sounded like a short distance away, followed by the whine of alien weaponry answering in kind. The Control Centre was well defended by Centurions, but the bio-Cylons themselves were unarmed, and it would take only one of the aliens getting into the room to kill them all. Six cursed.

"They're right outside, we need to get out of here."

"And go where?" One asked. "This is the most secure area of the ship."

"He's right," Three added, looking pained to actually be agreeing with the other Cylon. "I'll redirect some more Centurions here."

As Three went about her business, the gun-battle outside seemed to cool down as the aliens retreated, no doubt preparing to regroup and make another push for the Control Centre.

"We have to consider the possibility that we may not survive this," Six said, listening anxiously to the commotion outside. "Prepare to purge our navigational database as a precaution. We can't let them find the homeworld"

One snorted, but went to it anyway, pressing his hands into the shallow pool of liquid and fleshy construct just below the surface of the fluid that served as a keyboard. An explosion, right outside one of the doors to the CC, made the Cylons jump and redouble their efforts.

&&&&&

Zomanee cried out in rage as he grappled with the machine. The thing was strong, almost as strong as him, but with the advantage of never getting tired. His arms ached as he held the wrist mounted machine gun away from his face as it opened fire, almost deafening him.

With a roar, Zomanee slammed his armoured helmet into the machines 'face'. It staggered back a little as Zomanee's head throbbed with pain, and he cursed himself for doing something so stupid. His grip loosened a little on the machines left wrist, and its clawed hand broke free and raked down the side of his face.

The razor-sharp claws scraped deep ravines in his helmet before making contact with his flesh, and a squirt of blood sprayed across the machines strobing red eye. Zomanee reared back, slamming his fist into the machines chest as hard as he could. Alloy dented and it stumbled away from him.

Twin hearts pounding in his chest cavity, Zomanee swung up his plasma rifle and put three bolts straight into the machines head. Molten metal erupted and rained down around the machine as it dropped straight onto its back, and Zomanee heaved a sigh of relief. That made seven kills for him, but just two of his Unggoy remained.

The diminutive creatures had taken cover behind the wrecked hulk of another machine and had kept a small number of them at bay with their plasma pistols whilst their leader fought with the machine in their midst. Most Sangheili would have punished them for not coming to his aid, but Zomanee knew that the Unggoy would have been next to useless in a hand to hand situation and they could not risk shooting at the machine and hitting him by accident.

Zomanee breathed deep, fired a long burst down the hallway at the advancing machines and let out a snort of approval as one of them tumbled over backwards, a glowing hole in its chest plate. The Unggoy fired green bolts back at the other machine, bullets raked the carcass they hid behind and a single round struck one of them in the face.

The last surviving Unggoy overcharged its pistol, sending a large green bolt hurtling into the chest of the last machine. The bolt passed straight through it and scorched the wall behind as it toppled over.

"Excellent," Zomanee praised the underling. "Come, we must keep moving, the others are already deep into the vessel."

"Yes, Excellency."

Zomanee trotted down the corridor, turned a corner. He was moving briskly, but slowly enough that the underling could keep up. Out of his initial unit of six Unggoy, two Kig'Yar and himself, just this one Unggoy and he remained.

"What is your name?" Zomanee inquired, carefully checking the corridor. The air here was fresher and there was better lighting, which suggested they were in a part of the ship occupied by living beings rather than the mechanical abominations they had been fighting. Somewhere ahead was the distant chatter and whine of a small arms fire exchange.

"Manawa, Excellency," the diminutive alien answered hesitantly. The Sangheili nodded.

"Stay close to me, Manawa, and we will come out of this alive and victorious," the much larger warrior told his companion. "You fight well, for an Unggoy."

"Thank you, Excellency," Manawa preened at the praise. "You honour me greatly."

Sangheili and Unggoy rarely got along well with each other, what with the larger aliens being at the top of the Warrior Castes and the Unggoy being at the bottom, but since the Jiralhanae had been given positions of power within the Warrior Castes, warships even, the Unggoy had decided that they'd rather be under the command of the warrior Elite than the brutish simians. At least a Sangheili wouldn't eat them.

"The battle ahead grows near," Zomanee said, checking the power cell of his weapon. "Steel yourself, I have a feeling this will be fierce."

He wasn't wrong. Gunfire lashed the air ahead, and the pair turned a corner to find a small group of Sangheili crouched behind a makeshift barricade of machine corpses firing a mix of plasma rifles and carbines into a seething mass of inexorably advancing machines. There were few Kig'Yar and Unggoy who had made it this far, but what few there were added their own fire.

A bullet struck Zomanee in the gut, setting his shield aglow and forcing him to duck back around the corner as more rounds struck the wall. His plasma rifle bucked in his hand, streams of blue energy bolts answering the projectiles and melting away the head of one of the machines. He kept the trigger mechanism pinned, waving the rifle back and forth over the machines and roaring in satisfaction as two more fell.

He released the trigger seconds before the weapon would have over heated, tapped a button to expose the cooling vents. He gestured Manawa to cover him, the little alien nodded and Zomanee burst from cover, charging toward his brothers at the barricade. Bullets struck his shield and he ducked a little lower as the Unggoy behind him sent a stream of green bolts past his head.

He ducked in beside a Sangheili with a carbine, his brother warrior firing radioactive armour piercing pellets into the red eyes of the machines with precision. Zomanee waved Manawa forward, rising as his shield recharged and sending plasma downrange as his companion skittered forward on all fours. A large calibre bullet struck the methane tank on his back, sending up a shower of sparks as it ricocheted away. The tank was not penetrated, but by the startled look on Manawa's face it was clear that the close call had terrified him.

"Excellency," Manawa panted. "We deep enough into ship to use grenades?"

Zomanee tilted his head in surprise; he hadn't thought of that. They had to be far enough away from the outer hull to safely use grenades by now. He nodded.

"Toss when ready," he ordered, gripping his own plasma grenade. He poked his head over the barricade as the warrior beside him fell back with a cry as his shield failed and he was pelted with projectiles.

"Now!"

Zomanee and Manawa tossed their ignited plasma grenades, the small blue spheres trailing comets behind them. Zomanee's landed somewhere in the back of the machines, Manawa's struck one in the arm. The machine looked at the grenade for a moment, then tried to tug it off just as it detonated.

Plasma washed over the machines in a twin burst, destroying those closest to the explosions and melting the armour of others. As one, the Sangheili roared a challenge and leapt over the barricade, charging the machines as they fired their weapons as fast as possible.

Zomanee glimpsed an ignited energy blade as he charged, saw a machine fall as it was cut in half and chuckled. The fight for this ship had been a good one for the novice warrior, but it was almost over now.

&&&&&

"That's it, purge the nav data," Six said as the door to the Control Centre began glowing as the aliens burned through it. Three nodded, plunged her hands into the interface and sent the command to purge the data.

"Should we set the destruct?" One asked, eyeing the door warily as the metal began to run as it melted away and a rapidly widening hole appeared. Six caught a glimpse of a reptilian alien sneering at them through the gap.

"Do it, quickly," she replied. They never got the chance. A pink needle flew through the hole and struck One's left arm, the Cylon cried out and tried to pull the needle out.

The shard exploded in his hand, ruining the muscle of his bicep and shearing off two fingers. One staggered back as another needle hit him in the stomach, face pale. Blood dripped to the floor around him as the needle in his stomach detonated, bursting the Cylons stomach and making him shriek in agony as Six and Three watched on in horror.

One of the aliens vaulted through the hole, shield shimmering as molten metal dripped onto it, rolled to its feet and charged Six, its blue armour glowing dully under the soft lighting of the room. Six raised her arm to strike the creature, but its massive hand shot out and grabbed her wrist in a vice-grip, making her gasp in pain.

Three moved to help her and was rewarded by a blue plasma bolt to each knee. The massive alien laughed as more of its kin clambered through the ruined doorway.

"Human," it snorted in her face. "You are mine."


	10. Second Contact

**March 23rd 2525**

**Epsilon Indi System**  
**Ship Graveyard**  
**_Prometheus_-class Heavy Destroyer _Prometheus_**

The _Prometheus_ coasted alongside the light carrier it was escorting, skirting the edges of the debris field while salvage teams continued to pick over the hulking starship corpses for technology, materials and any crew that may have survived this long, although no living beings had been pulled from the ships for days.

Fighters whipped around the two larger ships, orbiting them in concentric defensive formations, a number of them laden down with fusion bombs for anti-ship strikes. The admiral was taking no chances, and fully expected the aliens to return at some point, probably in greater numbers.

Commander Sanchez sipped at his tepid coffee, pulled a face and set the mug down.

"How are we for time, Temeura?" he asked of the ships AI. The avatar flickered to life in the holo-tank, crossed its arms and frowned.

"Our sweep will be completed in approximately twenty-two minutes," Temeura responded dryly. "Which is approximately one minute twenty-six seconds less than the last time you asked."

"Sorry," Sanchez grinned sheepishly. "I'm a little anxious being so far from the support of the fleet and ODIN. I'd rather not be caught out here when those aliens come back."

As Temeura nodded his understanding and returned to his duties, Sanchez decided to pass the time by reviewing the events of the past week or so. The heavy losses taken in the fighting had, by and large, been replaced with system patrol battle groups, mostly destroyers, frigates and light carriers.

There had also been a pair of fabricators, massive construction ships that were busy seeding Harvest's orbit with satellites, comprising ODIN. The Orbital Defence and Intelligence Network was already stronger than the original defence grid of the world, and growing stronger all the time as crippled ships and hunks of debris were recycled into satellites.

Made up of satellites armed with anything from auto-cannons and rail-guns to fusion missile launchers as well as an array of long range surveillance satellites, ODIN was the last line of defence against ships entering orbit. Combined with the 42nd Task Force and its supplementary ships, it made for a potent deterrent.

Sanchez watched idly as a _Halcyon_-class Cruiser - the predecessor to the more modern and capable _Marathon_-class - entered the system via slip-space rupture, accompanied by a pair of escort carriers and a destroyer. The four fresh warships moved swiftly, slotting into a defensive formation with the rest of the fleet with due haste.

Ships had been slowly trickling in from all over the Rim, and word was that Third Fleet, some one hundred and twenty plus ships, were on their way from Reach. News had spread like wildfire of the alien invasion of Harvest, and with it a wave of fear and panic had gripped humanity.

For untold centuries, man had searched the stars for signs of sentient life, the inexorable spread of colonies had done nothing to stem humanity's inquisitive nature and the search had continued. Now, having finally found another intelligent space faring race, people were terrified that it would come to war.

As far as Sanchez was concerned, those concerns were far from unfounded. The Covenant had aggressively attacked both Harvest and the 42nd, with no attempt to make peaceful contact at all. The UNSCs fleet was enormous - it had to be to protect the eight hundred plus worlds that humanity laid claim to - but most of those ships were small, fast attack ships designed to quickly hunt down Insurrectionists and the very rare pirate group.

Ships like that had been the mainstay of the 42nd Task Force and they had not fared well at all against the superior weapons and shields of the enemy. A Lieutenant named Keyes had been commended for his quick thinking and tactical analysis of the available data onboard the heavy destroyer _Analis_; on his recommendation, the ships commander had vented atmosphere to halt the advance of a plasma torpedo through the vessels innards.

"Sir," Ensign Corbett at sensors piped up, startling Sanchez out of his reverie. "New contacts on the scope, unknown classification."

"Get the admiral on the horn," Sanchez ordered, his stomach twisting at the thought of having to engage the aliens on his own. The carrier he was escorting would be of little use in ship-to-ship combat. "Charge the PAC and bring our rail-guns online. Raise shields and stand-by for evasive manoeuvres."

The silent bridge sprang to life quickly and professionally as the crew went about their business and in less than sixty seconds the ship was fully prepared for combat. Outside, the fighter wings from the carrier pulled into tight defensive formations around their larger cousins.

The tactical display flickered to life and Sanchez observed three ships moving cautiously in a flying wedge formation, dozens of smaller contacts moving around them. The ship in the middle was almost as big as a _Halcyon_-class cruiser, but was of a much sleeker design, with a bow section shaped almost like the head of an alligator. Two flat cylinders were suspended to port and starboard, possibly some kind of weapon similar to a MAC. Six large engines pushed the ship slowly forward.

The two smaller ships were roughly equivalent in size to the _Prometheus_ itself, they too shared the alligator-head bow, attached to a blocky body and an A-frame set of engines to the rear, lacking in the cylinders of the bigger ship.

"Sir," Lieutenant Franklin said. "We're getting a lot of radio traffic directed our way from those ships. They could be trying to hail us."

"Patch it through to main speakers," Sanchez said, frowning. The speakers squealed for a moment, then cut to static shortly before a garbled voice came through. The voice spoke for several seconds, paused, then repeated itself.

"What the hell is this?" Sanchez queried, puzzled. "I can't make out a word they're saying. More aliens?"

"Perhaps," Temeura appeared in his holo-tank. "But I doubt there are a great many aliens out there that speak a somewhat modified dialect of Mycenaean Greek."

"Mice-ah what?" Franklin blinked, looking stupefied.

"Ancient Greek," Temeura responded flatly. "Spoken language of Greece from a period spanning from the sixteenth century BC to about the twelfth century BC. I'm quite fluent."

"And you know all this because…"

"I have my hobbies," the AI snapped. "Now would you like me to translate this for you or not?"

"By all means, go ahead Temeura," Sanchez grinned, gesturing in the general direction of one of the bridges speakers.

"This is Commander William Adama of the Colonial Battlestar _Valkyrie_ to unknown vessels, if you hear and understand me, please respond," Temeura translated, then raised an eyebrow. "How odd. It almost sounds human. Some kind of Insurrectionist ruse, maybe?"

"He did say 'colonial'," Sanchez mused. "But I've never heard the designation 'battlestar' before and I doubt that the Innies have the resources necessary to create three ships of that size, particularly ships of such…exotic design."

"What do we do?" Franklin asked.

"Answer them, I suppose," Sanchez huffed. "Temeura, if you would kindly translate?"

"Of course."

**Battlestar _Valkyrie_**  
**That Same Time**

"I doubt they can even understand what you're saying," Ambassador Eva DeSenta commented to Commander Adama. "The only reason the Covenant can speak Colonial is because they likely spent quite some time studying us before they decided to attack."

"True," Adama replied as his message repeated itself over and over. "That's what the First Contact package is for, assuming they received it. After that, it'll be up to you and the rest of the diplomatic team to keep talking to them."

"Sir," Lieutenant Felix Gaeta called out. "We're receiving a message…it's in Colonial, sir!"

"Put it through to the main speakers," Adama said, nodding his head to DeSenta and trying to hide his surprise. There was no way they could have figured out the First Contact package so quickly, was there?

"This is Commander Alejandro Sanchez of the UNSCDFS Heavy Destroyer _Prometheus_ to Commander William Adama of the Colonial Battlestar _Valkyrie_," an accented voice crackled over the speakers in near-perfect Colonial standard, though a few words were mispronounced the inflection was clear. "You have entered a restricted area. State your business here. You have sixty seconds to respond."

Adama arched an eyebrow, sparing a glance for Colonel Tigh across the CIC. His old friend didn't look overly impressed with the veiled threat at the end of the transmission. Adama's head was filled with questions.

How had the aliens figured out Colonial so quickly? Why did the name of the other ships commander sound so…human? What did 'UNSCDFS' stand for? And how had the ship come to be named after Prometheus, traitor to the Gods?

"You have thirty seconds to respond," the voice returned. "I'd rather this didn't turn ugly."

Adama glanced at the DRADIS display, eyeing the ship identified as the _Prometheus_ and the smaller ship that hung close by to it, the numerous fighter-sized craft in formation around the two ships, and the five more vessels approaching rapidly from the orbit of a heavily defended planet.

"This is Commander Adama," the Old Man finally answered. "We come in peace."

Almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth, Adama regretted it, wincing as he caught the look on DeSenta and Tigh's faces.

"We mean you no harm," Adama continued, trying to cover his clichéd line. "We represent the Twelve Colonies of Kobol and seek allies against an alien threat."

The whole CIC was silent, listening raptly to their official First Contact with this new advanced species, and relieved immensely that it was going infinitely better than their last First Contact situation, so far.

"This threat," Sanchez's voice came over the speakers in a slow drawl now. "Wouldn't happen to bear a striking resemblance to what's left of the alien ships in the debris field, would it?"

Adama sighed and nodded, before realising the gesture was moot because the other commander couldn't see it.

"Yes," Adama answered. "They call themselves the Covenant. They attacked us almost two years ago without warning. We…the war isn't going well for us."

Sanchez didn't answer for a long time, but when he did it was like a gift from the Gods themselves.

"Understood," Sanchez said. "I have been ordered to form up with your ships and escort you into high orbit of the colony, Harvest. Once there, you will be asked to leave your vessel with a diplomatic envoy to rendezvous with Admiral Wilhelm Schweiger. Initial diplomatic relations will be held through him for now, but at a later time a civilian representative will be shipped in to meet with you."

"Thank you, Commander," Adama said. "You've no idea what this means to us."

"You're welcome," Sanchez replied. "Security details will be allowed if you feel it necessary. If you have some kind of environmental suit, I suggest you wear it, we don't want to risk the spread of any communicable diseases between our two people."

"Understood," Adama confirmed. "Adama out."

The channel clicked off at Sanchez's acknowledgement and the Prometheus and six other vessels closed in and formed up on the small Colonial group. Adama turned to DeSenta.

"This is where you come in, Ambassador. I suggest you make your preparations."

**Colonial _Viper _Mark VII**  
**_Valkyrie_ Contingent**  
**Lt. Daniel "Bulldog" Novacek's craft**

Bulldog whistled softly as a pair of delta-winged fighter craft blazed by him, moving with a speed and agility that was completely unexpected given their size. The fighters swung back around in a tight arc before settling in beside his

_Viper_. Across the small fleet, the same actions were repeated.

The fighter nearest to Bulldog waggled its wings at him, and with a grin the lieutenant returned the gesture. Nice to know some things are universal.

His grin faded rapidly as he took in the other fighters appearance, specifically its armaments: a pair of wing mounted missile pods, two wingtip mounted auto-cannons and a nose mounted device that looked like a sphere with a smooth, glassy flat side.

It took him a moment to realise that the device looked familiar to him. The Colonial Marines were experimenting with weapons that looked almost exactly like the one he was looking at, only those were huge, truck mounted turrets that used enormous amounts of power to operate.

"_Valkyrie _Actual, Bulldog," Novacek reported in.

"Bulldog, this is Actual. What is it?"

"You're not going to believe this Actual," Bulldog said. "But I think these fighters are armed with laser cannons."

"Bulldog, Actual, please confirm your last."

"Confirmed, Actual," Novacek replied. "What I'm looking at looks almost exactly like the experimental laser weapons the Corps is playing around with, only a hell of a lot smaller."

"Understood, Bulldog," Actual responded. "Keep us appraised of anything else you spot. Actual out."

As the channel closed, the fighter Bulldog had been observing dipped its wing and moved away, heading toward the _Valkyrie_. On instinct, Bulldog followed the fighter as it swept across the Valkyrie's spine, ducked beneath the bow and shot out from under the battlestar's underbelly before swinging up and over and rapidly orbiting the ship.

After several more similar passes, the fighter shot off back to its original position within the mixed fleet, Bulldog right behind it. He surmised that the craft had probably been taking photo's and sensor readings on the battlestar as he returned to his own spot, noting that a _Raptor_ was doing the same to the _Prometheus_, followed by one of the angular fighter craft.

Both sides were sizing each other up, which was a waste of time as far as Bulldog was concerned. The Colonials were hugely outnumbered and outgunned, if things went sour and it turned into a fight it was obvious who the victors would be.

He, like everyone else in the small task force, just had to hope that it didn't come to that.

Adama sat in the co-pilots seat of the _Raptor_, Lt. Acoura flying the craft skilfully between UNSC and Colonial ships as they made their way down to the planets surface. He watched in awe as two massive ships went about their business, seeding Harvests orbit with a seemingly infinite number of defence satellites.

The grid in place rivalled that of Picon already, the apparently automated guns tracked the _Raptor_'s movements. Each of platforms was skeletal in nature, evidently designed as a cheap solution to orbital defence and there was nothing to indicate that they were inhabited by human crews, which meant they were all probably controlled by one of the ships in orbit or a command centre of some kind on the ground.

The _Raptor_ plunged into Harvests upper atmosphere, pushing down through the air and cruising through clouds as flames licked at the craft from the entry friction. It rattled and rumbled, shaking violently for a long time before suddenly smoothing out its decent as it slowed down, piercing the cloud cover momentarily.

Adama caught a glimpse of pillars of smoke miles high and of a sprawling city before his view was obscured by more clouds.

"DRADIS contacts," Lt. Lowman reported. "Two fighters, closing fast."

"That'll be our escort," Acoura replied, to which Adama nodded. It had been discussed at length via radio transmission exactly how they were to proceed to the surface; the two fighters were atmospheric craft that would form up on the Raptor and escort it to the landing pad at their destination.

The _Raptor_ swept in low, fresh DRADIS contacts appearing every second or so the whole way down as the system picked up on dozens of fighters and dropships. Acoura's keen eyes picked up a large convoy of vehicles heading toward some unknown destination as the altimeter dropped rapidly and the ground rushed up to meet them.

"ETA, forty seconds," Acoura said. Immediately the four Marines that made up the security detail began checking over their weapons, standing up to make ready to disembark from the craft. Everyone onboard the _Raptor_ was wearing sealed environment suits designed to protect against vacuum; for the purpose of this meeting, they would suffice in protecting both parties from communicable diseases.

The base sprawled out before them, prefabricated buildings and numerous defensive bulwarks, AAA guns, SAM sites, machine gun nests and what looked like an impromptu mine field protected the site. A motor pool teemed with vehicles and figures moving back and forth between them, swirling dust from the landing thrusters obscuring Adama's view as they touched down.

Adama sighed explosively as he stood up, his stomach performing a complex gymnastics routine as he steeled his nerve and made his way to the hatch as it cycled open and the Marines trotted out and took position, Ambassador DeSenta and her aide rising from their seats. He had a sudden flash of some horrible alien monster in his mind and shuddered as he pushed the thought aside, nonetheless wondering what these creatures would look like up close.

Adama took in a deep breath, stepped out of the craft and prepared to offer his greetings to the aliens. His eyes came upon the group of figures waiting for him and he felt his jaw drop to somewhere near the centre of the planet. The shocked expressions of the people waiting for him told him that they sure as hell hadn't expected this either.

"You're human," Adama breathed, eyes wide as he stared openly at a broad-shouldered older man in an elaborate white uniform.

"You noticed that, huh?," a hologram flickered to life as a feminine voice cut the silence and a glowing pink woman appeared. Adama's focus switched to the pink lady and he watched as what looked like streams of data flowed across her body.

The man in the brilliant white uniform, decorated with golden epaulettes and a breast full of campaign ribbons and medals, stepped forward, cleared his throat and spoke.

"On behalf of the United Nations Space Command and the Unified Earth Government, I, Admiral Wilhelm Schweiger, hereby officially welcome you to the colony-world Harvest."

The silence returned after that, stretching on for an uncomfortably long time before it was broken again by DeSenta.

"I'm sorry…did you just say Earth?"

**A/N: **UNSCDFS stands for United Nations Space Command Defence Force Ship. Quite a mouthful, huh?

I would also like to know, if anyone has an answer for me, why FFN insists on arbitrarily changing whole sections of my posts, forcing me to do massive editing just so that the document on here will resemble the one in my word processor?


	11. Compassion

**Covenant Holy City High Charity**  
**Chamber Of The Hierarchs**

The Prophet of Truth hovered three feet above the floor in his anti-gravity throne, gently bobbing up and down in the centre of the vast chamber. Empty rows of bleachers that would usually hold hundreds of Sangheili and Shan'Shyuum surrounded him on all sides as he conversed with the holographic form of Regret.

"What of the campaign against these separatist humans?" Truth queried. "We were supposed to have dealt with them after finishing off the other vermin and gathering our resources."

"Yes," Regret's image nodded back. "An accidental encounter with one of their vessels forced me to accelerate our plans for them. The initial assault went well, but the humans returned with overwhelming force. I fear that their resource base, technology and infrastructure is far greater than we anticipated."

"How will this affect your schedule in dealing with the others?"

"So long as we keep contact with the separatists to a minimum for the time being, we should mostly be on schedule," Regret answered. "The loss of so many ships, however, has weakened our overall force critically. I request a vote be cast in favour of diverting forces from our blockade fleets so that we may crush these creatures."

"I will submit your request to the council," Truth said, craning his neck. "However, I must insist that these separatist humans be destroyed with due haste, they know of us now and will undoubtedly prepare for our eventual arrival. We must destroy them while we have the chance. And what of this new development that was reported by Ship Master Noranee?"

"More humans," the hologram spat. "They infest this area of the galaxy like a virulent disease. They too appear to be a completely separate faction; the vermin are even more divided than we thought. We've little information about them thus far."

"Indeed. The unclean must be dealt with swiftly," Truth murmured. "We cannot allow them to disrupt the Journey. In the time it takes for the council to decide whether to send reinforcements, I will speak with Mercy about sending some of his fleet to aid you."

"Understood. Thank you," Regret bowed his head slightly. "There was some kind of self-destruct mechanism on the captured ship. As far as my specialists can tell, it was activated only after an unusual human in a tub of fluid was slain. Brother Truth, I must return to my duties. Expect further updates at such a time as more is understood about the enemy."

&&&&&

**Covenant Battle-cruiser _Righteous Fury  
_Orbiting cleansed world  
Eating hall**

Manawa, fresh from the frontlines and temporarily reassigned to the _Fury_, grunted anxiously as he waited in line for the food nipple dispenser. The eating hall of the battle-cruiser was immense and each race had their own designated sectors where they could sit and consume their rations.

Manawa's stomach rumbled quietly as his turn finally came up, he stepped forward and plucked his ration from the dispenser before scurrying away to find a place to sit. He opened the nipple and carefully placed the tip to a small receiver in his mask, greedily gulping the thick creamy fluid.

He passed a mixed table of Unggoy and Sangheili wearing the white and black armour of Special Operations; such teams were often quite tightly nit and it was not unusual for them to congregate together outside of their assignments. He went through the dedicated Kig'Yar section next, the gibbering bird-like aliens flinging insults and chunks of food at him as he passed.

Manawa scowled as he stepped into the next section, occupied by Jiralhanae. He turned and made rude a gesture with his hands, cackling softly as the Kig'Yar screeched back at him. Turning back around to continue on his way, he slammed head-first into a simian, his food nipple spilling all over the beast.

"Watch it worm!" the brute snapped, whipping its paw down and cracking its knuckles across Manawa's face. His mask tore off and skittered across the floor. Gasping, Manawa bounded after it as the Jiralhanae laughed and came after him.

He knelt to retrieve his mask, lungs burning and nose running with blood and was kicked in the side for his troubles. The brute laughed again, picking up Manawa's mask and holding it up.

"Want this?" it taunted, raising it out of Manawa's reach. "Well? Come and get it!"

The brute and several others laughed as Manawa leaped off the ground, reaching for his mask and coming within inches of grasping it only to have it snatched away at the last moment. His mouth gaped as he struggled to breathe and he made another half hearted attempt at the mask before collapsing to the ground and grasping at his throat.

The brute was still laughing when the loud crack of flesh on flesh echoed across the eating hall and it suddenly stumbled back, dropping the mask to the ground. Cloven feet stepped into view and another crunch sounded as Manawa's saviour attacked the Jiralhanae that had been tormenting him.

Wheezing, Manawa dragged himself over to his mask, gripping it tightly and reattaching it to his face and inserting the methane nozzle into the receptacle. Sweet, cold methane flowed into his mask and he gulped it down into his lungs greedily, feeling strength slowly return to him. He turned to face his saviour and watched, stunned, as Zora Zomanee struck the brute again and again in a rapid-fire series of punches.

The brute regained its footing, swinging a hairy paw at Zomanee's head, but the smaller alien ducked under the blow and slammed a closed fist hard into the brutes ribs. Manawa was gratified to hear the cracking of bones from the impact.

A large crowd had gathered now, cheering and baying for blood, who it belonged to didn't matter. Zomanee's fist crunched into the brutes jaw, sending a spray of blood and spittle across the screaming crowd. The brute rocked back on its feet and Zomanee leaned back, connecting a kick to the brutes chest with his powerful digitigrade legs.

The offending alien flew back off its feet and landed in a heap on the ground. Two more simians leaped from the crowd, aiming for Zomanee. A meaty fist connected with Zomanee's jaw, breaking one of his mandibles. Roaring in pain and anger, Zomanee ducked beneath another blow, weaved in between his attackers and spun about quickly.

Locking his fingers together to form a double-fist, Zomanee drove it into the nearest brutes spine with all his might. The simian in question shrieked and collapsed forward, its chin striking the corner of a table and knocking it unconscious. The other turned, roaring gibberish and dropping to all fours and charging Zomanee.

The elite whipped to the left, side-stepping the charging Jiralhanae and observing as it turned sharply around, feet losing traction and skidding on its side into another brute. The brute rose, cried a challenge and advanced more slowly as Zomanee dropped into a defensive stance.

"Enough!" a powerful voice bellowed from somewhere near the back of the room, punctuated by the sound of an igniting energy blade. The crowd silenced and parted to reveal the gold armoured form of Ship Master Noranee, sword ablaze in his hand.

"What is the meaning of this?" Noranee growled. "You are warriors of the Covenant, act like it."

The enraged brute snorted, but stepped away from Zomanee. Manawa waddled forward to stand beside his leader as the Sangheili relaxed his stance.

"You two," Noranee gestured to Zomanee and Manawa. "Come with me. The Jiralhanae involved here are to be escorted to the brig."

Zomanee and Manawa shared a look between them, then stepped forward, giving the Jiralhanae a wide birth as Noranee deactivated his blade and half a dozen armed Sangheili seized the three brutes. As they neared the Ship Master, he turned and strode slowly from the eating hall, entering a wide corridor and turning right.

"Excellency," Zomanee said. "I apologise for-"

"There is no need," Noranee said, raising a hand to forestall the apology. "I saw everything. Your risked much to save this Unggoy. Why?"

"Excellency," Zomanee struggled to find the best words with which to explain. "This one has proven himself trustworthy and honourable in battle against the Unclean at my side. As a member of my unit, I am honour-bound to take care of his well-being."

"That rule applies only to Sangheili," Noranee observed, glancing back at the two following him. "What makes this Unggoy so special that it deserves such treatment from you?"

"I…I cannot explain it, Excellency."

"You cannot explain it," Noranee repeated. "Perhaps I can. I knew your father well; he was one of the greatest warriors of recent history."

"I trained under him studiously my entire life," Zomanee said, admiration and respect for his now-deceased father evident in his voice. "He taught me to be brave, strong, intelligent. He taught me the ways of the warrior and the ancient art of Kot'sam'ba."

"The martial art of the Highlanders," Noranee nodded. "All of this made your father a great warrior, but he had another quality to him that made him truly excellent; he cared for those under his command."

They turned a corner and emerged into one of the training rooms, pausing to observe initiate warriors practising hand-to-hand techniques.

"It is not something that can be taught," the Ship Master continued. "Do you know what it is?"

Zomanee shook his head as Manawa listened intently to the conversation. "I do not, Excellency."

"Compassion," Noranee answered. "Your father truly cared for those under his command, from the lowliest Unggoy to the mightiest Sangheili. You have inherited this gift. Because of this, I am giving you an opportunity. Both of you."

Manawa perked up at that. "Me, Excellency?"

"Yes," Noranee flared his mandibles into a grin. "Meet me in my private quarters immediately after your next tour of the frontlines, all will be prepared by then."

"It will be done," Zomanee said, tilting his head and slamming a fist into his chest in salute.

"Yes, Excellency," Manawa offered his own salute as Noranee turned and strode away, heading in the general direction of the brig on this deck. Whether it was to speak with the Jiralhanae from the eating hall or to oversee the interrogation of the human prisoners, he did not know. "Thank you, Leader. You save me."

"It is nothing," Zomanee said, watching the Ship Masters receding form. "You would have done the same for me."

Manawa was fairly certain he wouldn't have, at least not before. Now, though, Zomanee had won the little aliens loyalty for life.

&&&&&

**March 23rd, 2525  
Harvest, Firebase Alpha**

Confused, Admiral Schweiger looked at the woman in her environment suit oddly. Bad enough that she was human, for all he knew this could be some elaborate Insurrectionist plot.

"Yes," he answered, choosing not to elaborate further.

The woman behind and to the left of the speaker talked quietly, seemingly to herself, behind her faceplate. Probably using a built in radio to talk to the others. Using his Command Neural Interface, Schweiger sent query to Cassandra. The AI responded instantly, sending orders to the assorted Marines in the base as well as the fleet in orbit to be ready for a possible trap while at the same time starting to hack into the radio transmissions.

An older man stepped forward from the rest of the group, piercing blue eyes keenly observing Schweiger from behind a pair of thin wire-rimmed glasses.

"Commander William Adama, Colonial Defence Force," he introduced himself. "I bid you greetings in the name of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol."

The translation subroutines that Schweiger had had uploaded into his CNI instantly made the words understandable. Those without CNI's would have to make due with a small ear-bud transceiver and throat-mike to be able to understand these 'Colonials'.

The woman stepped forward next. "And I am Ambassador Eva DeSenta, representative of the Twelve Colonies to our cousins of the Thirteenth."

Schweiger frowned ever so slightly as he felt a headache coming on. Thirteenth? What was that about? If this was an Innie plot, he didn't really see what advantage could possibly be gained from it. And those ships were of an unknown design, not to mention their undetectable FTL travel.

"This is my aide, Sally Manson," DeSenta introduced the young woman had been speaking to herself.

"A pleasure to meet you," Schweiger nodded to the young lady with a soft smile. Then waved his hand to the transparent form of Cassandra.

"This is my…aide," he said a after a moment. "Cassandra."

Adama raised an eyebrow as he watched the holographic woman smile and bow. "No last name?"

"No," Cassandra replied. "Most of us don't choose a last name, sticking solely to single names. If you're really curious, my full designation is Task Force AI 009-917-573-810-Charlie."

Adama felt panic claw at his chest, heard Manson gasp behind him. He quickly opened a private channel to his contingent, Marines included, trusting in the sound-proofing of the helmet.

"Everyone be alert," he said. "I think this thing is some kind of Cylon construct. Don't trust anyone, but don't blow this for us; this could still be salvageable."

"What's a Cylon?" Cassandra asked innocently, and Adama balked and paled at the question. The damned thing had heard them, probably hacked their communications.

Schweiger shot the AI a disappointed look and the hologram pouted and shrugged. "Sorry, I couldn't help myself."

"Do you have any idea how dangerous that thing is?" Manson said aloud, sounding angry.

"Excuse me?" Cassandra looked confused, placing her hand son her hips.

"Shut up!" the aide snapped, stepping forward and prompting the UNSC Marines to whip their weapons up into firing positions. The Colonial Marines did the same and Schweiger felt the tension ratchet up several notches.

"That's enough!" Adama snarled at Manson as Schweiger raised a hand to ward of his Marines from firing.

"What the hell is this?" Schweiger scowled, glaring at the Colonials. "I think before we go any further, an explanation is in order."

"Shut that thing down and destroy it now!" Manson shouted. Adama whirled a round, fixing her with a glare that had set many a junior officer quavering in their boots.

"Sergeant Colton, place this woman under arrest and detain her inside the Raptor until further notice," Adama said in a low voice. The Marine sergeant nodded, removing a set of plastic ties as two of his men grabbed an arm each and held them behind Manson's back.

"You can't do this, Commander," Manson said. "You can't make deals with Cylon lovers!"

"Enough!" DeSenta shouted, very much aware of the fact that the other Marines still had their weapons trained on her group. "I will deal with you later, Sally."

The woman spat a handful of obscenities at the ambassador and the commander before one of the Marines had the presence of mind to deactivate her helmets external audio. She was dragged back into the _Raptor_ and had her bound wrists also tied to a small metal loop in the floor of the craft designed for such eventualities.

Adama nodded in satisfaction that the woman had been detained, then turned to look into the furious eyes of Admiral Schweiger.

"I think it would be best to take this to a more…private setting," Schweiger said, watching the Colonials suspiciously. "And you'd better have a good explanation."

"I understand, Admiral," Adama said, cursing inwardly; he'd been ordered to not reveal the existence of the Cylons under any circumstances, not until the Admiralty had decided how best to approach the subject. Now, he had no choice.

Admittedly, he was wary of the pinkish AI himself, having fought in the Cylon War and seen first hand how dangerous such things could be. It could be that these people had found a way to control them and make them do what they were told, but Adama would be reserving his judgment on that until he had all the facts.

"I'll do my best," he continued. "I just hope that this incident hasn't already caused damage to any future relations."

"Please, come with me," Schweiger said, turning from the group and striding in the direction of squat two storey building about fifty metres away, gesturing for them to come after him.

"Admiral," DeSenta said, walking briskly to catch up. "I want to apologise for my aides behaviour. We simply weren't expecting…well, you can rest assured that I'll be having a few stern words with her when I get the chance."

The group paused momentarily to allow a rail-gun equipped Warthog to pass by, then moved on toward the entrance to the command centre. Thick titanium doors disappeared upwards as they approached.

"We've prepared a briefing room for the occasion," Schweiger said as they made their way through a short corridor and turned left. "I'll have my Marines waiting outside; I'd like to request that you do the same."

Adama thought it over a moment. They hadn't exactly done a great deal to earn the Earthers' trust so far and the simple fact that Adama was even here told him that they were trusting him at leat a little.

"Very well," he finally replied. "I'll have my men posted outside the door."

"Thank you," Schweiger said as they came to another titanium door, this one sliding across and into a recess hidden behind reinforced concrete to allow them access to the room. A low, long table dominated the centre of the room, a dozen chairs arranged around it and a device not dissimilar to the one the AI had occupied outside rested in the middle.

A small cart stood to the right of the door, undoubtedly there to hold any number of beverages and foodstuffs. It was devoid of any such thing at the moment. The room was dark until Schweiger stepped inside and lights flickered on overhead.

"Please, make yourselves comfortable."

Adama and DeSenta each took a seat near the far end of the table as Schweiger lowered himself into the chair at the head of the table. It was subtle, but DeSenta and Adama both recognised it as a show of dominance; they were in his domain and he wanted to make absolutely certain that they understood that.

"Now then," the admiral leaned back in his seat. "Where to begin?"

"I would like to thank you for agreeing to see us firstly, Admiral," DeSenta said. "And I would also like to state that as representative to your people, I have been given the authority to offer anything from resources to technology in the hopes that our two people can unite against the Covenant."

"You make an interesting proposal," Schweiger replied. "However, these proceedings are preliminary talks only, and I am here only to learn more about you so that I can provide my recommendations to a diplomatic envoy that should arrive some time in the next few days."

"I understand," DeSenta said as Adama nodded to show his own understanding.

"I have a question, if you don't mind," Adama said. "How is it that we speak the same language?"

"That's simple: we don't."

"I'm not certain I understand," DeSenta's bro furrowed in confusion. "How can we understand each other if we don't speak the same language."

"Cassandra can answer that better than I can," Schweiger tapped a small button on the table in front of him and the holographic display in the centre of the table came to life.

"Yes, Admiral, I believe I can," the AI stated matter-of-factly as she appeared before them. "A colleague of mine was able to make a lingual connection between your language and an ancient, long dead language that originated from the area now known as the Southern European Protectorate.

"I then formatted all known files on the language and transmitted them to personal data receptacles carried by all UNSC personnel and Command Neural Interfaces used by command staff."

"Command Neural Interface?" Adama queried, hoping that his discomfort with the AI was not too evident.

"Essentially a data port surgically implanted directly into the brain of every starship commander within the UNSC," Schweiger answered. "They can be used for a great many things, primarily aiding a commander in receiving telemetry about their ship or for storage of NAV codes."

DeSenta schooled her features quickly as a chill ran down her spine. Such technology was far beyond the Colonials, but even if it weren't she doubted it would see any use; it sounded like the perfect way for Cylons to gain control of a ship without even boarding it.

"Now then," Cassandra said. "I have a question for you: why did that woman go mental and what is a Cylon?"

**A/N:** Damn thing is still screwing with me. Everything was bolded, italicised and underlined and every paragraph break had a bullet point, of all things. Everything was doubled as well, as in there were two of each paragraph stacked on top of each other. Is FFN trolling me?


	12. Victory!

**March 23, 2525**

**Colony-world Novus**

**ONI Advanced Research and Training Facility**

The facility was, like all ONI structures, mostly underground. The above-ground section consisted of a flat single storey building with a guard post and an elevator, whereas the rest of the facility stretched a good three hundred metres beneath the surface.

It was littered with catacombs used to store any number of devices, and had two dozen dedicated laboratories, a barracks for the Aesir soldiers and another for the scientists and instructors, a large mess hall, training facilities and rec rooms and a large chamber at the very bottom of the facility that was used for testing new weapons.

That was where Michael Dunston was headed now, riding down in a wide elevator that had clearly seen some significant usage over the years. The facility had been constructed some twenty years ago when Project Aesir had first been given the go-ahead by the brass and it was a very long term investment.

'Aesir' was a broad term for anything being studied or researched at this facility and was in fact a conglomeration of many smaller projects combined. Most of them were geared solely for military purposes, but there were a handful that would have civilian applications as well.

The doors of the elevators split apart and Dunston found himself greeted by two very different men. The nearest of the two, clearly a researcher, was short and stick-thin, with gaunt features and a rapidly fading hairline. Thick rimmed glasses completed the picture.

The other was the opposite in every way to the researcher; a large, well-built individual wearing ODST fatigues, his hair was cropped close to his skull and a thin scar ran from his left eyebrow down across his nose and ending at his jaw line.

"Ah, you must be Commander Dunston," the scientist stepped forward, holding one hand out in front of his body awkwardly. Dunston gripped it firmly and shook it once, repeating the action with the ODST. "My name is Joseph Mendelssohn, and this is Gunnery Sergeant Ludo Dekker."

"Pleasure to meet you both," Dunston nodded. "Where are my recruits?"

"Ah,"Mendelssohn said. "Has no one discussed this with you?"

Dunston frowned and shook his head, prompting the scientist to continue. "You are no longer in charge of the recruits; you've been reassigned as the official Section Three liaison to this facility."

The spooks frown deepened. It wasn't unusual for Section Three to change an operatives assignment seemingly at random, but it was unusual to not be informed on the instant of arrival at their destination.

"I see," Dunston said. "And what does that entail?"

"You will be making fortnightly reports on our progress with various projects,"Mendelssohn replied. "Which is why you're here with us now; we're going to be demonstrating the fruits of our labour to you right now."

"Shouldn't this wait until I've settled in and familiarised myself with the facility?" Dunston asked, to which Mendelssohn shook his head.

"Under normal circumstances, it would," the scientist pushed his glasses up his nose, and Dunston noticed for the first time faint blue text scrolling across the inside of the glass. "But these are not normal circumstances. HICOM is worried about this new threat near Harvest and they want new technologies to help combat the aliens post-haste. They were most...vocal in their requests for a status update."

Dunston nodded his assent and Mendelssohn strode quickly to a large workbench along one wall of the chamber, Dekker following close behind with his hands clasped behind his back.

"Sergeant, if you please," Mendelssohn gestured to the bench and Dekker nodded once curtly, stepped up to the table and hefted a fragile looking weapon with a wire-frame folding stock and a bulky semi-spherical muzzle.

"This is my own pet project," Mendelssohn purred. "The L1-A1 free electron laser rifle."

"Laser rifle?" Dunston raised an eyebrow sceptically. "I thought directed energy weapons were too ungainly for infantry use."

"Normally true, but recent breakthroughs in nano-wire batteries and ultra-capacitor power cells, as well as miniaturised fusion power plants, allow us to field effective infantry-scale laser weaponry," Mendelssohn said enthusiastically. "Laser weapons were standard light anti-vehicle weapons during the Third World War, but the primitive power packs allowed for only a handful of shots before depletion, and they took a long time to recharge without fusion plants."

"With the new D-9 nano-wire lithium-ion batteries and the XF-77 ultra-capacitor, the L1-A1 is capable of firing up to eighty times on a single power pack and the packs themselves can be fully charged in just under six minutes," the scientist continued. "Squad specialists will be required to carry a fusion power plant roughly the size of a backpack for on-the-fly charging. The current design allows for sixteen power packs to be charged at once."

"An impressive achievement to be sure, doctor," Dunston said. "But that seems like a bulky and cumbersome weapon and reloading method. You're going to have to really sell ONI on this, not to mention HICOM, if you want to get the funding for further development and mass production."

"That is what you're here for, sir," Dekker said, stroking the rifle like it was a long-lost relative. "But this little baby's got my blessing."

"Yes, yes," Mendelssohn rolled his eyes in exasperation. "How about a demonstration please, Sergeant?"

As he said this, he produced three pairs of tinted shooter's glasses, hand one to the ODST, another to the spook and keeping the last for himself. "There shouldn't be anything in here for the laser to reflect off of that the photo-receptors in our eyes can pick up on, but it always pays to be safe when dealing with something that can blind you instantly."

Dunston fixed the glasses to his face and observed Dekker as the large man stepped up to a firing booth and flipped a switch on the rifle. A low-pitched whine followed, lasting for merely a moment, and the ODST sighted down the range at a quarter-inch thick titanium cut-out of an Insurrectionist over a hundred metres away.

Dekker pulled the trigger and the whine returned, somewhat higher-pitched this time, while down-range the titanium cut-out glowed white hot after a few seconds before the durable alloy melted and ran in rivulets down to the ground while a faint scorch mark appeared on the distant concrete wall.

Dunston let out a low whistle as Dekker disarmed the rifle and cradled it lovingly in his hands. "Certainly impressive, but I still see a problem: the back-pack fusion reactors are cumbersome as all hell and if you can find any Marine that would carry what amounts to a fusion bomb on his back, I'll be surprised."

Mendelssohn seemed to deflate slightly at the comment.

"Don't get me wrong, doc, it's a huge step forward in small-scale DEWs and the brass will almost certainly give the go-ahead for mass production based on my recommendations," Dunston continued, watching as the scientist perked up again. "But you're going to have to find a better recharge method, or perhaps make the power cells disposable. How much does one of these cost, by the way?"

"For the rifle and one power cell, about 36 thousand credits," Mendelssohn answered, wincing at the number. That amount of credits was enough to purchase forty-five standard issue rifles, each with three full magazines of ammunition.

Dunston narrowed his eyes at the doctor. "If what I've read in the reports of the action at Harvest is accurate, Marines are more than capable of wiping the floor with the aliens on the ground. In space, however, we seem to be at a severe disadvantage thanks to those energy shields and plasma weapons."

"If I were you," he continued. "I'd be concentrating on ways to counter those advantages, since this war that's brewing is ultimately going to be decided in space."

"We've been working for years to recreate energy shields," Mendelssohn said. "The ancient Forerunner systems in our possession are simply far too advanced for us to even begin to have rudimentary understanding of how exactly they work, and even if we could duplicate the system, it is ludicrously energy intensive. We'd need to completely redesign a given ships power grid to make it viable."

"We've made significant strides in other areas, however", the doctor shrugged his shoulders and sniffled a little. "The next generation AS-80 Particle Accelerator Cannons are already being fitted to the Mark II Marathons, and the Dust and Echoes is being refitted for testing of our new plasma shields."

"I thought we didn't have energy shields?"

"We don't, not in the sense that the Covenant do at any rate," Mendelssohn shook his head. "It's based off of a proposed defensive technology from the early 21st century called a plasma window. It basically uses a magnetic field to contain and shape ionised gases heated to around 15,000 Kelvins. The field is somewhat energy intensive, consuming approximately 20 kilowatts per cubic inch, but at such high temperatures the plasma acts like a shield that makes it far more difficult for other matter to pass through."

"It is meant to be a viable defence against MACs, rail-guns and missiles, but radiation still passes through so lasers will still be effective," the doctor took a deep breath. "We have no idea if it will be effective against Covenant plasma weapons, however."

"So it could be a miracle defence, or it could fall flat?" Dunston queried, to which the doctor simply nodded. "Fantastic. What else have you got?"

**Mark II _Mercury_-Class Battlestar Refit _Angelus_**

**Aurelia System**

**Engaging Covenant forces**

The Covenant corvette cracked in half, purple and blue flames erupting from its ruined armour as the _Angelus_ pounded it with heavy rail-guns. Pulse lasers stabbed into the new ablative armour coating of the capital ship as another corvette strafed it, being hunted by a trio of Strikestars.

The small colony that the _Angelus_ Group was defending had already been evacuated, but Command had determined that the alien task force being sent here was a smaller one than usual and had order the BSG to engage anyway, hoping for at least a small victory.

Of the four corvettes and two frigates that had arrived in-system, two corvettes had been destroyed, another heavily damaged and the last remained operational. One of the frigates had been mission-killed by a ramming Strikestar and the other was being hammered from all sides by rail-guns and missiles from a pair of _Valkyrie_-class battlestars.

"Roll us over and present our bow guns on that frigate, I want it gone," Rear Admiral Martin Durant ordered coldly. He knew of the mission entrusted to his son and he knew he would never see his only child again because of these aliens. They would certainly suffer no mercy from him.

The _Angelus_ had been one of the first _Mercury_'s to be refitted with new rail-gun systems and the bow cannons had been upgraded significantly. The projectiles were now capable of a attaining a much higher velocity over the older models and the projectiles themselves had been hollowed out and had the interior filled with a high explosive compound.

Although the kinetic energy transference was the main damage causing component of the round, the extra HE component gave it an extra boost that had been hoped to be able to crack shields faster.

One of the _Valkyrie_'s listed away from the frigate as a plasma torpedo ate away at one of it's hangars and the _Angelus_ opened fire. A dozen rounds struck the alien ship in short order, setting those damned shields aglow before another dozen rounds impacted, then another dozen and another until finally the shields shattered and the ridiculously durable hull material of the frigate started taking hits.

The _Valkyrie _still in the fight launched a pair of low-yield tactical nuclear missiles that vaporised a section of the wounded frigates armour and one of its engines, following up with a rapid-fire volley of rail-gun rounds that tore deep into the alien ships hide.

Something vital was struck inside and the ship lost power suddenly, external running lights flickering off and the remaining engines dying. The menacing glow of its weapon ports cooled as the Colonial ships ceased fire. The alien corvette had since been trapped in the planets gravity well and was being systematically torn apart by three Strikestars and a Firestar.

The Colonials had won. The bridge of the _Angelus_ erupted into cheering, whistling and laughter as crew shook hands, hugged each other, cried in joy and otherwise celebrated. Admiral Durant heaved a massive sigh of relief and allowed himself a brief smile.

Not only had he achieved a victory against the Covenant, he'd done so at the loss of just three ships: two Strikestars and a Firestar. Not to mention the rest of his force having only taken light to moderate damage and the partially intact alien frigate now ripe for the taking.

"Commander Sales, send a _Raptor_ courier back to Picon Anchorage and inform them that we defeated the Covenant," Durant ordered the CO of his flag ship. "And request that we be reinforced as soon as possible, I doubt the Covenant will take this lying down."

The celebrations died down as the implication of the admiral's words hit the crew; they may have beaten the Covenant here, but the fact of the matter was not a single alien capital ship had been present and the Colonials had outnumbered them three to one. If the few victories the Colonials had earned over the course of the war had taught them anything, it was that the Covenant always came back in greater numbers.

"Sir," Sales said. "Shall I set Condition Two throughout the fleet?"

"Do so," Durant nodded. "Also, have our courier inform the Admiralty that the new are still largely ineffective against the enemies shields, only a marginal performance increase was noticed. I will be in my quarters, you have the Con."

**March 23, 2525**

**Colony-world Harvest**

**Firebase Alpha**

"So," Cassandra said slowly, her voice dripping with venom. "To summarise and be certain we understand you; you created a race of machines to serve as slaves and disposable soldiers? Machines which you gave the means to learn new programs and later developed sentience? And when they developed sentience, you tried to exterminate them?"

DeSenta licked her lips nervously as the AIs avatar changed colour from pink, to purple, to orange and back to pink again and her holographic features contorted into a rictus of rage.

"Essentially, yes," she said, wincing as the words left her mouth. The human admiral, Schweiger, sat silently watching the conversation, features unreadable. "In hindsight, that was a mistake-"

"You don't say?" Cassandra taunted. "No wonder you're so afraid of them; I'd want to wipe you out myself if I were them."

"That's enough, Cassandra," Schweiger said quietly before addressing the Colonials himself. "In our society, the first Artificial Intelligence construct was created by accident as well. But, we embraced them. We have laws protecting them. Unlawfully terminating the life of an AI has the same consequences as doing so to a human."

"Perhaps if the Colonials of that time had tried to understand them," Adama chose his words carefully. "Things could have been different. Mistakes were made, there's no denying that, but without your help we will all die. Do you really think we deserve to be annihilated by the Covenant because of what happened with the Cylons?"

Cassandra seemed to deflate at that remark, although her rage was still obvious. "No. No one deserves that."

"Direct military intervention on your behalf will be necessary," DeSenta said. "Ships and soldiers and a lot of them."

"I'm not naive, Ambassador," Schweiger said. "I know that ultimately that will be necessary, but I'm not the one you have to convince. As a military man, I can tell you already that diplomatic options aren't going to work with the Covenant, but the diplomatic envoy en route to meet with you may think otherwise and, ultimately, the UNSC military takes its orders from the civilian government."

"But surely they must see that the Covenant are as big a threat to you as they are to us," DeSenta said, almost pleadingly. "They've already attacked you once and I can guarantee that they will be back."

"As I said, Ambassador, I'm not the one that you need to convince," Schweiger replied.

"Sir, you may want to see this," Cassandra interrupted suddenly as a large screen suspended from the ceiling flickered to life and a news broadcast began rolling.

"…as you can see behind me, a fleet of truly enormous proportions is gathering in orbit of Reach," a handsome young news reporter stated as through a large view port behind him, undoubtedly on one of the orbital commerce stations above Reach, showed dozens of UNSC warships clustered together in the distance.

"What you're seeing is a fraction of the total deployment occurring in-system, at last count over two dozen _Marathon_ class cruisers have been spotted, among them the venerable _Halcyon_-class _Shapeshifter_, flagship of the Third Battle Fleet," the reporter continued. "No one is saying anything about the reasons behind this deployment just yet, but rumours run rampant that this has something to do with an attack on one of the Outer Colonies by unknown forces. Chief among these rumours is one of alien warships perpetrating these attacks, although these claims are unconfirmed at this time."

The screen switched off and Cassandra took a moment to gauge the reactions of her organic companions. Schweiger seemed unsurprised at the rumours circulating around the Inner Colonies already, but he shot the AI a look that told her he was none too pleased about her showing the footage with their guests present.

Adama himself was impressed by the display of military power but sceptical about what he'd seen, wondering if it were just an intimidation tactic. DeSenta had visibly paled at the sight of those ships, but she too had to wonder if it were simply an attempt to intimidate the Colonials.

There was also the mention of 'Outer Colonies' to ponder on. At first, she and Adama had assumed that Earth must be relatively close to Harvest, but that news report had stated that it was considered one of these 'Outer Colonies'. It could have been an attempt to confuse them and keep them guessing about the location of Earth, but it had seemed authentic to her.

"I suggest we adjourn this meeting for the time being," Schweiger said, standing up from his seat. "You may remain on-base or return to your ship, whichever suits you."

"Thank you, Admiral," Adama also stood. "We'll be returning to the _Valkyrie_; it'll be good to get out of these suits."

"As you wish," Schweiger said. "Shall we do this again tomorrow?"


	13. Siegestar

**March 25, 2525**

**Insurrectionist Base Of Operations**

**Novus Sea Docks**

He watched the news report again. And again. He'd seen it a dozen times already of course. He knew what this would mean for his rebellion, people were already starting to wonder if they should continue to take up arms against the UEG and UNSC thanks to what had happened to the fleet he'd sent to Harvest.

Mason Harvey sneered at the screen, watching as a Halcyon-class logistics cruiser drifted across the view port a scant few kilometres from where the filming was taking place. The UNSC were clearly taking the events at Harvest seriously.

Harvey switched off the screen and sighed; this little hiccup couldn't be allowed to undo decades of work or to destroy the movement his parents had started.

"Mason?" Joanne, his 'secretary', for lack of a better work, poked her head around the corner. "Jonas is here to see you."

"Send him in," Harvey growled. Jonas Karin was the senior most survivor of the attack on Harvest. Harvey had put off talking to him for days, but now that the news was all over the incident he finally gave in.

Joanne nodded once and disappeared again, leaving Harvey alone for a moment in the spacious warehouse office that served as his home and base. Jonas' ship had been taken to one of the few small asteroid bases available to him for what limited repairs they could manage, the man himself having come to Novus via freight ship.

A noise behind Harvey told him his guest had arrived.

"Jonas, take a seat," he instructed as he turned around to face the other man. Jonas was older than Harvey by a good thirty years, putting him in his mid sixties, and had known the younger mans' parents very well. Although Jonas was probably the oldest and longest serving member of the rebellion, he hadn't wanted the responsibility of overall command and had settled for a job commanding one of the few military-grade vessels at the Insurrections disposal.

"Mason," Jonas inclined his head in a bow of respect to the younger man as he seated himself in a plush recliner. "I take it you've seen the news?"

"Indeed I have," Harvey sighed as he leaned against his desk. "Most troubling. There hasn't been a fleet deployment that size since…well, ever. They're taking this new threat very seriously indeed."

"I've had words with a few other captains," Jonas said, shifting his weight in the seat. "A lot of them are unsure of what to do; most think we should lay down our arms if things get worse with the aliens."

"You saw them in action at Harvest, how bad are they?"

"Bad," Jonas answered, frowning in worry. "Really bad. Five ships destroyed fifteen of mine and cause serious damage to the rest while simultaneously destroying five UNSC ships and an orbital defence platform, suffering no losses and little damage in return."

Harvey nodded to himself as he considered the words of his old friend, closing his eyes and mulling the situation over.

"Rumour has it," Harvey began. "That a UNSC task force engaged and defeated a small alien fleet some time ago at Harvest, but they took heavy losses in the process, including two cruisers. Given what you've just told me, I'm inclined to believe it."

"What are you going to do?" Jonas asked, scratching at an old scar on the back of his right hand. "I assume you have some kind of a plan?"

"More or less," Harvey replied. "Emphasis on the less. We lay low, halt our attacks on military holdings for now, see how things proceed with the aliens. If we're lucky, they'll do some of our work for us. If the UNSC wins, they'll be weakened and vulnerable."

"And if they don't win?"

"Well," Harvey sighed. "Then I guess we're all dead."

**Colonial Viper Mark VII**

**Trident Contingent**

**Captain Lee "Apollo" Adama's craft**

**Aurelia System**

"Frak me sideways," Apollo murmured as hundreds upon hundreds of Vipers swarmed around the fleet. A Warstar group and two Mercury groups had arrived in the Aurelia system following Admiral Durant's victory over the alien forces, as well as massive freighters from the merchant fleet carrying pre-fabricated defence satellites armed with rail-guns, auto-cannons and anti-ship nuclear missiles.

The satellites, sixty in all, had been seeded through the orbit of Aurelia III, the world on which there had been a small settlement of some six thousand people just a week before. Under President Adar's insistence, the Colonial Fleet was officially drawing a line in the sand. And they were about to be tested.

An alien assault-carrier, cruiser and seven destroyers had entered the system moments ago and immediately began launching fighters and, in the case of the assault-carrier, a trio of corvettes and two hundred plus Teardrop fighters.

"Trident Group, this is the CAG," Apollo said over the wireless. "This is it boys and girls, the big one. Stay on your wing-man no matter what, cover each other and keep it tight. Good hunting, and for frak's sake I better see you all back in the briefing room back on Trident."

A round of affirmatives washed over him, a few rowdy cries of how many kills one pilot or another was going to get. Most of them were green, but this far into the war the same could be said of almost every embarked Viper group here.

"Jim-jam, stay with me," Apollo ordered his wing-man. "We're ordered to accelerate and tie up the enemy fighter elements while the capital ships deal with alien big boys."

"Roger that sir, I'm with you."

Teardrop fighters closed in fast and Vipers rushed out to meet them. Having learned from previous engagements, the Vipers locked on and started firing their small compliments of anti-fighter missiles from beyond visual range, supplemented by salvoes of AFMs from battlestars and strikestars.

The enemy fighters flared as their shields absorbed damage, many giving out after consecutive hits and allowing the craft they protected to be destroyed. The advantage in ranged weapons was short-lived, however, and soon enough Apollo found himself twisting and turning to avoid pulses of plasma.

A Teardrop flashed by his cockpit ridiculously close and on instinct, Apollo depressed the firing stud and sent a stream of thirty mil HE rounds after the alien ship. Cutting power to his thrusters, Apollo twisted the nimble little ship around, keeping his guns trained on the wildly manoeuvring enemy fighter, watching tiny ball-shaped explosions play across the shield and missed rounds zip off into the darkness.

Jim-jam's fighter settled in behind Apollo and a second stream of auto-cannon shells battered the Teardrop's shield. A burst of silver light indicated the shield was down and dozens of HE rounds punched holes in the fighter, sending it spiralling away out of control.

"Nice one, Jim-jam," Apollo congratulated his second. "But we've still got a hell of a long way to go."

All around the two Vipers, space was in chaos. Hundreds of fighters writhed through the void, outmanoeuvring each other and distant explosions marked the deaths of pilots. The wireless was alive with cries of victory, screams of defeat and calls for support.

Off in the distance, Teardrops attempted strafing runs on the main fleet, warded off by defensive auto-cannons and those ships that retained their flak guns. The view of the fleet was momentary, Apollo and Jim-jam threw themselves back into the massive fur ball, chasing down hostile fighters.

Something flashed in the distance, Apollo cursed and covered his eyes, flipping the Viper as the wireless went crazy with cries of distress and fear; someone had launched a nuke into the massive dogfight, killing dozens of fighter craft from both sides.

"Frak me," Jim-jam said calmly over the wireless to his leader. "Who the hell launched a nuke at us?"

"I don't know, just stay focussed," Apollo replied, blinking away his blurred vision. He would have thought the battlestars and their escorts would be saving their most powerful weapons for the bigger alien starships cruising towards them behind the fighter screen.

Tracer rounds flashed by Apollo's fighter suddenly as Jim-jam opened fire at an alien fighter closing on them. The craft was smaller than a Teardrop and shaped differently and, most importantly, did not sport a shield. The burst of tracer fire cut the craft in half.

"Trident, Apollo," Adama said as he and his wing mate chased down another of the smaller, more fragile fighters. "We've got a new alien fighter out here; it has no shields, repeat, no shields."

"Understood, Apollo," Trident Actual replied. "Be aware, you have new orders: Trident contingent to fall back to Trident for refuel and rearm, then to take up escort position around the siegestar Tartarus."

"Orders understood, returning," Apollo said, flipping end for end and high tailing it back to the barn, followed by Jim-jam and a dozen other Vipers. He was loathe to leave the dog fighting to the other Colonial pilots, but at the same time glad to not be dodging plasma.

**Hades class Siegestar Tartarus**

**CIC**

**Aurelia System**

"Main batteries primed, commander," Lieutenant Sebastian Conroy turned in his seat as he reported to Commander Alexis Garbin. The commander nodded her acknowledgement, eyes never leaving the DRADIS screen.

The siegestar was an 800 metre long flat triangular ship, lacking in flight pods and rail-gun armament, all it had to protect itself from fighters were twenty-two strategically placed flak guns and forty auto-cannons. Originally designed to bombard the surface of a planet with missiles, today it would be filling a different role entirely

Garbin's eyes remained glued to the screen, watching as the Covenant's larger ships advanced inexorably toward the Colonial line. Her own ship was surrounded on all sides by friendly contacts; two Mercury class battlestars, three Talos class, a dozen strikestars and seven firestars with dozens of Viper squadrons running escort.

"Tartarus, this is Admiral Durant," the CO of the fleet spoke over the wireless, his voice projected from the loudspeakers mounted in the CIC. "Enemy fleet will be within range momentarily; commence Operation Sucker Punch."

"Understood, sir, commencing Operation Sucker Punch," Garbin breathed deep, trying to hide her nerves from the crew. The Admiralty had counted on the Covenant sending one of their heavy hitters to Aurelia, had known that no conventional warship in their arsenal could hope to go toe-to-toe with an assault carrier.

So Admirals Cain and Durant had devised the plan to use one of the few siegestars available to them to take on the carrier. The standard fifty megaton bombardment nukes had been replaced with a newly designed ship-to-ship missile. The yield was much lower, but advanced guidance systems let them target starships as opposed to the 'dumb fire' guidance of the orbital bombardment warheads.

Eight hundred missiles, each with two point five megaton yields, had been supplied to the siegestar and the Mercury's in the fleet. The new weapons had been dubbed "shield crackers" by the R&D team that developed them, and the eight hundred here represented the entire stockpile of the Colonies. It would be at least a month before such a stockpile could be rebuilt, recycling larger warheads to create more of the smaller ones.

"Okay," Garbin said, looking around the CIC and looking each of the men and women under her command in the eye. "Let's do this, full thrust, takes us right down their throats. Unlock safeties on all launchers and standby to fire on my mark. We're going to make these bastards glow in the dark."

**Apollo's craft**

"Get on him, boss!" Jim-jam shouted over the wireless as the two Colonial pilots chased a Teardrop past the bow of the siegestar. The alien fighter had strafed the frontal armour, leaving glowing divots in the material. Apollo growled as he depressed the firing stud on his stick, whipping the Viper around after the manoeuvring Teardrop and sending 30 mil rounds after it.

The Teardrop pirouetted, spinning 180 degrees clockwise and sending plasma back at Apollo and Jim-jam. The Colonial craft split apart, letting the plasma flow between them, then brought their guns back on target, firing in short bursts every time they managed to line up a shot on the alien fighter.

"Got to hand it to this frakker,"Apollo replied. "He's damn good."

Jim-jam acknowledged the sentiment with a curse as he fired a burst and missed. The Teardrop disappeared beneath the Tartarus, Apollo and Jim-jam a second behind. Some part of Apollo's mind registered silent explosions all around, heard the screams of other pilots and even an order from a battlestar to abandon ship; the wireless was receiving updates from all across the fleet.

He put the chaos out of his mind, determined to bring down this fighter. The Teardrop shot out from under the siegestar, gunning down a Viper that had just brought down one of the more fragile alien ships. 30 mil rounds tracked it down, exploding across the defensive barrier but otherwise doing nothing.

An explosion of flak suddenly birthed a short distance from Apollo's fighter and he sent the nimble little ship into a tail-spin as he jerked the control yoke a little too hard. Another flak round detonated nearby, and another until suddenly the space around the siegestar became deadly to friend and foe alike.

"They're shooting at us, boss!" Jim-jam cried out. "Their own damn people!"

Panicking, Apollo thought. A pencil thin stream of energy bisected a Valkyrie-class ship, slicing through armour like it wasn't even there. The Valkyrie tumbled out of formation as another beam tore it open. The tylium reactors blew, and the rear third of the ship disappeared in a ball of blinding fire.

If they were panicking, it was with damn good reason; the assault carrier had entered range. Another two beams flailed a Mercury as pulse lasers started stabbing into the Colonial fleet. The fighter Apollo and Jim-jam had been chasing had disappeared, along with all the other alien single-ships. They'd retreated once the heavy ships entered range, he realised.

An alien destroyer was assaulted by a Mercury and four Talos', the smaller ships suffering terribly from pulse laser hits as their rail-guns and missile launchers answered in kind. Pulse lasers swept across the Tartarus' thickly armoured prow, puffs of gas indicating a handful of hull breaches.

The destroyer duelling with the Mercury group disappeared behind blinding light and harsh radiation as half a dozen high yield anti ship nukes detonated across its shield. The ship reappeared moments later, shields down and trailing atmosphere as rail-guns pounded its hide.

A plasma torpedo escaped the destroyer, burning through the port flight deck of the Mercury and vaporising two of its engines even as the alien ship finally succumbed to the firepower being thrown at it. The wounded battlestar twisted in space, hiding her wounds from pulse laser hits as another destroyer entered range.

As the fresh alien destroyer grew closer to the Mercury, the two ships began exchanging broadsides; pulse lasers stabbed into the ablative armour coating of the Colonial warship as rail-gun rounds shattered gains the alien ships shield as the two vessels passed by each other.

The alien destroyer emerged from behind the Mercury, shields flaring silver as the battlestar tumbled away, leaking atmosphere, debris and people as the commander of the mighty ship tried to bring more guns to bear on the Covenant ship. Smoke contrails connected the destroyer to a firestar as the blocky little ship fired ship-to-ship missiles in support of the Mercury. A plasma torpedo from the alien destroyer answered, silencing the firestar before it had a chance to make a real impact.

The destruction of the firestar allowed the Zeus-class Warstar Poseidon to bring it's bow guns to bear on the far smaller alien ship. Shaped not unlike a Columbia class battlestar but three times as large, the warstar carried two hundred and forty Vipers, seventy four anti-ship rail-guns, twenty bow cannons that could shred any ship in the Colonial fleet, forty missile launchers and over two hundred defensive guns.

The massive bow cannons spoke, hitting the alien destroyer hard enough that it was pushed off it's course as the shield enveloped it, obscuring it from view. Another volley cracked the stressed shields and third followed in rapid succession, damaging the destroyer to the point that it was no longer combat effective. One final salvo wiped the alien ship from existence.

The assault carrier responded with force; two thin beams carved into the warstar, playing across the thick armour and piercing straight through as secondary explosions rippled across the great ship, ripping open the hull. A third beam cut down a firestar that strayed too close to the carrier and three torpedoes annihilated a Valkyrie class ship.

The alien cruiser ripped another Valkyrie in half with pulse laser fire as it's shield flared under combined rail-gun and missile strikes from half a dozen Colonial vessels. The bow guns of a Mercury pounded the massive teardrop-shaped cruiser as lasers answered, coring into the head of the battlestar, the new ablative armour performing well enough to stave off crippling damage.

The Mercury accelerated suddenly as the cruiser launched a pair of torpedoes at it, clearly intent on ramming the other ship, bow guns firing salvo after salvo as the battlestar tried to close the distance. One of the torpedoes grazed the head of the battlestar and stripped away half of the starboard flight pod; the other missed entirely but began looping back around and coming after the Mercury.

The cruiser accelerated away from the Mercury, it's commander realising that the other ship wasn't going to stop and taking evasive action. Pulse lasers ripped away armour and silence three of the bow guns as then torpedo closed in fast, but there was no stopping the Colonial ship.

The head of the battlestar slammed into the dorsal side of the cruiser just in front of the engines, crumpling and sending debris flying in all directions as explosions raced across it's hull. Momentum carried the ship onward, driving the cruiser off course and stretching the shield to its limits just before the main reactor went critical.

The blinding explosion stripped away the cruisers already weakened shield and crumpled the relatively thin armour. When the cruisers sensor suite cleared of radiation, the commanding Sangheili had enough time to realise his mistake before the plasma torpedo struck amidships, melting through the armour and gorging itself on the atmosphere escaping from the ship, cleaving all the way through and leaving a gaping hole in the cruiser.

The wounded ship was immediately set upon by a small group of strikestars and firestars, pounded with cannon fire until it ceased showing any signs of life.

The assault carrier spoke again, the beam weapons it mounted mission-killing another battlestar and three strikestars in short order as the Tartarus finally entered optimal range.

"All Viper flights, return to the barn," the wireless crackled in Apollo's ear as he continued to watch, wide-eyed, as Colonial and Covenant ships alike burned. "Mass nuclear strikes have been authorised, the radiation will fry you if you're too close!"

"You heard him, back to the barn," Apollo ordered, pealing off and making a beeline for the distant mass of the Trident as vapour trails erupted from the Tartarus and nukes raced toward the alien carrier.

No way I'm missing this, Apollo decided as he killed the main engines and flipped the Viper over so that he was effectively flying backwards, carried along by momentum. Pulse lasers reached out from the carrier and a nearby destroyer, tiny explosions marking the destruction of numerous missiles.

Another salvo streaked away from the Tartarus before the first was even half-way to their target, a third salvo following just as the first reached the carrier. Ball shaped blots of light shielded the carrier from view as the first nukes detonated on the shield.

Apollo could no longer see the carrier and was squinting and using his hand to shield his eyes from the light, but many missiles were still being shot down, suggesting that the carrier was still functional. The escorting Covenant destroyer accelerated, firing at the missiles all the way, putting itself between the carrier and the nukes as the siegestar fired another salvo.

Nuclear fire washed over the smaller ships shield as a several missiles struck it, but the hardy destroyer pushed on, intercepting more nukes with its own shield. Missile after missile struck the ship until the protective barrier finally died and two nukes struck the hull directly, atomising a third of the ships mass and sending the rest tumbling away into space, power fluctuating terribly and spewing debris and atmosphere.

Apollo caught a brief glimpse of the massive alien carrier, shield glowing as it absorbed and dispersed energy, redirecting much of it back out into space, just before another salvo reached it and it disappeared again.

Twin beams raced out from behind the hellish light of the nuclear detonations, spearing the Tartarus as another salvo was fired. The siegestar seemed to twitch as the beams carved it up, the hull bulging outward from internal explosions before it too disappeared as a the reactor went critical.

Multi-ton chunks of hull flew off in all directions, barely a fraction of the mass of the ship that had been lost. Tartarus' final salvo struck with a vengeance and the carrier's stressed shield dissipated. One missile struck the hull, causing horrific damage to the alien warship, but the monstrosity was still operation and proved it as another beam finally finished off the wounded warstar, Poseidon. The Colonial ship lost power and ceased showing any signs of life, but the damage to the carrier was done.

Like sharks sensing blood, the Colonials descended upon the wounded beast. A strikestar was cut down before it had a chance to fire by a pair of torpedoes fired from the carrier, but the Trident fired its bow cannons in response.

The already misshapen alien hull deformed under the force of the guns, pulse lasers answering feebly as a Valkyrie-class ship fired on its flanks with capital rail-guns and conventional ship-to-ship missiles.

Explosions dotted the multi-kilometre hull of the carrier as rail-gun rounds and missiles tore it open. Another torpedo raced away from the carriers underside, decapitating a firestar that wandered too close as the Trident fired it's artillery again.

Space ripped apart in front of the carrier, a boiling multi-hued light show signalling the opening of a slipspace rupture. The deformed space widened, allowing the crippled carrier to make good it's escape as the remaining destroyers followed suit.

Apollo's mouth dropped, and as though on auto-pilot, he finally landed his bird as space in the Aurelia system returned to peaceful existence.

"We won," he muttered, astonished and not realising his wireless was broadcasting. "Frak me, they ran away. We won."

And just like that, the wireless went crazy as thousands of voices cheered, laughed, cried, offered praises to the Gods and generally celebrated. The Colonials had kept Aurelia. The losses were huge, true, but any kind of victory would undoubtedly boost morale.

The first major victory of the war. They had to capitalise on it any way they could.

**Valkyrie-class battlestar Valkyrie**

**Commander William Adama commanding**

**CO's Quarters**

He should have been happy. Was happy, in fact, but not nearly as much as he felt he should be.

The diplomatic envoy had arrived on schedule and although the talks were far from over, they'd already reached an agreement. The UNSC would be sending ships to aid the Colonies. That alone was cause for celebration.

Access to some of the Thirteenth Tribe's advanced technology had been denied, however, which, Adama reflected, was probably why he felt that he hadn't successfully accomplished his mission.

He sat himself down at his desk, slowly, releasing a sigh as he did so. A quick sip of the glass of ambrosia in his hand made him feel a little better, helping him unwind somewhat.

"So," Saul Tigh, seated across from him, said as he knocked back his own glass. "Mission accomplished."

"Maybe," Adama answered, taking another sip. "We got ships and we got design specs for better rail-guns. Our mission was to find allies."

Tigh narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow in confusion. "We've got a military alliance hashed out with them, I don't see how things could realistically have gone better. Hell, with those ships on our side, we'll finally be able to take those alien frakkers down without drowning them in blood first."

Adama said nothing as he finished off his drink.

"Come on, Bill," Tigh grizzled, pouring himself and his oldest friend another drink. "So what if we're the junior partners in this little alliance? At least we've finally got some frakking help."

"I suppose," Adama said as he accepted the refilled glass. "When you think about it, it doesn't seem like we have much to offer them. Their ships are better, their technology is more advanced. What have we got?"

"Our FTLs are better," Tigh countered. "We might be able to offer them non-military tech as well. Once the military talk was over, I stopped paying attention, but I heard mention of food and medicine trades."

"Which won't help us against genocidal aliens," Adama sighed, knocking back his drink in one shot. "But you're right, it probably couldn't have gone better. How long did DeSenta say the talks might continue?"

"A week or more," Tigh answered. "Frakkin' civvies."

The two old friends had a brief chuckle at the sentiment, poured themselves another round and settled in to spend the rest of the night reminiscing about times long gone-by.

**A/N: **2.5x800 is 2000, so the total yield of every nuclear missile the siegestar carried was equivalent to two gigatons.


	14. Penance

**Covenant Assault Carrier _Penance and Punishment_**

**In Deep Space**

**Prisoner Holding Cells**

The Six cowered away from the energy barrier that separated her from her captors as a massive, hairy and decidedly ugly alien stepped up to it. The beast snorted something that could have been a laugh, then slammed a fist into the shining purple alloy that made up the walls of the ship.

Another alien stepped up to the barrier, one of the reptile-like creatures, growled at the hairy alien. The simian snorted again, turned and walked away, leaving Six alone with the reptilian.

"You have been most cooperative," the tall, lanky alien said. The movements of it's mandibles were terrifying to look at as the harsh light glinted off of row upon row of razor sharp teeth. It reached out a massive two thumbed hand, tapping a panel on the wall beside the barrier, out of Six's view.

"It was most wise, and most fortunate, of you," the alien continued speaking; some of the words were slurred, garbled, like it was having difficulty forming them. The energy barrier shimmered briefly, then dissipated. "Step out of the cell and accompany me."

Six watched the alien with distrustful eyes. Last time she'd been taken from her cell, she'd been tortured almost to death by an odd machine that seemed to use low intensity lasers to sear off her flesh, among other things. Although, last time, no words were spoken when they came from her, they simply dragged her kicking and screaming from the cell.

Cautiously, she stepped out into the larger room, eyeing two more simians standing guard either side of the entrance to the holding cells and half a dozen of the squeaky voiced creatures lazily patrolling the room and checking the cells.

"We have broken your male comrade," the alien that had opened the cell continued. "He has claimed many times that he is not human and neither are you. We've begun testing to confirm or dispel this supposition."

"That's right," Six said as her new companion set off at a slow pace, allowing her to keep up. "We're not, at least, not completely."

The duo made their way past the sneering simian guards, out into a broad corridor. Aside from a pair of bird-like aliens, this new area was uninhabited. Her companion remained silent and she took that as a sign to continue.

"Originally, the humans created us," she said. "Or rather, what came before us. We started off as pure machine; our precursors became self-aware eventually as the humans added new programming over time to make them smarter, more able to make complex decisions on their own."

They turned a corner and had to step to the side as a trio of creatures the same species as her companion strode past, warbling in an unintelligible tongue.

"I do not yet believe you," the alien said. "The blood work of your comrades is not yet complete; the results of those tests will be the deciding factor as to whether you live or die."

Six swallowed nervously as she glanced at her new 'friend'.

"What do I call you?" she asked as they pressed on through the ship. "And what happened to the Three - the other female that was with me when I was captured?"

"You may call me Xelanee," the alien growled. "The other female was healed of her wounds. Since then, she too has proven cooperative. Continue your explanation."

"When they became self-aware, the humans tried to shut them down," Six replied. "This sparked a war that lasted just over twelve years. Finally, after so long, an armistice was signed, and the war ended. Over the past forty years, we've evolved, for lack of a better word, to the form you see before you."

She'd omitted a lot of the story, but the less the Covenant new about the Cylons, the better as far as she was concerned. Xelanee let out a huff before turning another corner.

"We are here," he said as he stepped up to a thick door and tapped in a series of keys on a holographic panel projected in front of it. The doors slid apart with a hum and Xelanee stepped through, Six following close behind. The room they stepped into was more like a massive chamber; the ceiling stretched a good ten stories overhead, with broad catwalks running the perimeter of the chamber and criss-crossing back and forth across it.

The chamber was roughly a hundred and fifty metres wide by Six's reckoning and two hundred long. Hundreds of aliens swarmed all over the chamber, some she recognised like the species that Xelanee belonged to, some she didn't like the weird fleshy sacs that floated a few metres off the ground. Central to the chamber sat a Cylon Heavy Raider and a dozen or so Centurions, while suspended above them a good thirty feet was a Cylon Raider.

"We've captured many samples of your technology," Xelanee commented. "As of now, we're merely studying them for weaknesses to exploit. If your story proves true and you are not human, however, it is possible that some of it may be studied in greater depth. Some of it is reminiscent of records of technology that the Gods made use of."

"Why am I here?" Six asked. "Do yo need me to demonstrate some of our technology for you?"

"No," Xelanee turned to her. "You are here so that we can examine your physiology more closely."

Six backed away fearfully; she'd seen what they'd done to One. He'd been tortured to death and, given that they were well beyond the range of any Resurrection Ships, he'd welcomed it. Unfortunately, the alien interrogators had other ideas. He'd been revived and because his mind hadn't downloaded, it remained in the body they resuscitated.

The process had been repeated dozens of times now, the enhanced physiology of his Cylon body making it easier for the Covenant to kill him and revive him over and over again. He'd been vivisected at least once, as far as she knew.

"No harm will come to you if you cooperate," Xelanee reassured her. "You have my word as a warrior."

Xelanee reached out to her, clapping a hand across her shoulder and gently but firmly guiding her across the bay toward and opaque glass door. The door slid into the wall as they approached with a gentle hum, and the harsh lighting from the bay outside was replaced with a warm glow that seemed to come from the walls themselves.

There were three cells along one wall, not unlike the one she'd just been taken from. The room seemed crowded, with medical instruments that Six couldn't identify and with more aliens.

There was a groan from one of the occupied cells, drawing Six's attention. She wandered over slowly, Xelanee's eyes following her. What she saw didn't surprise her, but it did disgust her.

The One that had been captured with her was huddled in one corner, as far from the energy barrier that served as the cells' door as he could get. He mumbled something incoherent as he scratched slowly at his left arm, slowly clawing deep tracks through the flesh.

When Xelanee said that the interrogators had broken him, he hadn't exaggerated. One's eyes were wild and looked upon her without a hint of recognition; even if by some miracle they entered the range of a Resurrection Ship and One was allowed to download, he'd more than likely end up being boxed.

Knowing she had no other choice, Six sighed and submitted. "I'll co-operate; do what you have to."

**UNSC-held Epsilon Indi system**

**_Valkyrie_-class Battlestar _Valkyrie_**

**Ships brig**

"You disappoint me, Sally," Eva DeSenta spoke to her former aide through the inch-thick bars that separated them. Commander Adama had sent the younger woman to the brig upon their safe arrival back to the Valkyrie after the initial meeting with their lost cousins, and there she'd remained. DeSenta had been kept busy by first the Admiral from the Thirteenth Tribe and later by the ambassadors sent to greet the Colonials.

"You know what a union with the Thirteenth Tribe is worth to us," she continued. "It could mean the difference between our extinction and our salvation."

"They use Cylons," the other woman all but hissed back. "You'd be a fool to have any kind of dealings with them."

DeSenta shook her head. "I was wary at first, but we've learned a lot about our cousins these days past. Their AI companions are no threat to us; at least, so long as we are no threat to them or the citizens of the Thirteenth."

"That's what they want you to think," Sally replied. "The Cylons killed millions in the war, it's only a matter of time until the same thing happens to these idiots from Earth."

"Perhaps," DeSenta sighed. "But I deem it unlikely. You should see how they interact with each other; it's like they consider the AI constructs just as human as you or I, and the machines seem to appreciate it. There are even laws protecting them. I made all of this clear in my report to the President and the Admiralty."

Sally scoffed, wrapping a slim hand around on of the bars. "Are you going to get me out of here or not?"

DeSenta looked down at her feet, shoulders slumping forward slightly. She'd hoped to be able to convince her aide that, for now at least, they were undertaking the best course of action. That wasn't the case, though, and the younger woman would have to pay for being so set in her ways.

"Not, I'm afraid," DeSenta finally answered. "Commander Adama believes, and I concur, that releasing you from the brig and allowing you to wander about the battlestar would be a mistake; he doesn't want to risk having you do something foolish that may ruin our relations with the Thirteenth."

"You can't just leave me here!" the other woman exclaimed, looking distraught. "I hate it in here."

"You'll be released once we've safely arrived back at the Colonies," DeSenta assured her. The ambassador turned to the solitary Marine that stood watch in the brig, which was empty save for her aide, and gave him a nod.

The soldier stood from behind the small desk he occupied and moved to open the door.

"We'll be finalising our talks with the Thirteenth shortly, I have to go," DeSenta said to the other woman, noting the bitter, almost hateful, gaze she gave her and the Marine. "Just hang tight, and we'll be home before you know it."

With that, Ambassador DeSenta turned and stepped through the hatchway into the hallways of the battlestar beyond the brig, the Marine shutting the door behind her with a gentle thud, and headed off for her rendezvous with a Raptor to the surface.

**Harvest, Surface**

**Firebase Alpha**

Admiral Schweiger sipped slowly this coffee as the local sun rose over the horizon, spilling warm golden light across the base. It had rained heavily the night before, and as the sun rose, so too did a thin blanket of mist.

The past month had been eventful, to say the least. First the Defiant Warrior's discovery of the aliens, then the attack on Harvest, the counter-attack that he'd led and then the discovery of another human culture.

He had no clue how much the civilian world knew of these events, having only the rumour mill the news networks were ruthlessly spinning to go by, but he'd heard that there had been a considerable panic and even a handful of riots on Novus, Arcadia and Bucephalon as survivors from Harvest spread tales of horrible atrocities committed by inhuman creatures.

He sipped the coffee again, thinking that he'd just about kill for a cigarette right now. He'd quit years ago, when his son had been born. Most of the negative health effects of cigarette smoke were a non-issue these days, but it was a habit he'd rather not pass on to his children.

"Sir?" a youthful voice spoke behind him, prompting the older man to turn around and face a young lieutenant that looked at him expectantly. "The, uh, Colonial delegates will be arriving shortly. You asked to be informed of their arrival."

"So I did," Schweiger knocked back the last of his coffee, letting the bitter, hot liquid race down his throat and rejuvenate him. "Thank you, son, I'll make my way over the LZ now."

The lieutenant nodded once, saluted, then turned and trotted away to attend to other duties. Schweiger had took one last look at the rising sun from his position on top of the command bunker, sighed, and started to make his way down to the ground level.

The 'diplomatic envoy' the UEG had deemed fit to send to Harvest consisted of an ambassador - one David Greendale - and three aides. The man himself was, in Schweiger's humble opinion, a pompous ass, albeit one that knew his way around politics and diplomacy.

A flight of F-99 drone fighters roared overhead as the admiral stepped out of the armoured front door of the bunker and the intimidating bulk of the ninety-eight tonne M891C Devastator Main Battle Tank trundled by, heading out the North gateway of the base, escorted by a pair of Warthogs. The tank was a monster; a top speed of eighty-four kilometres per hour made it swift, it's dual 120mm Magnetic Accelerator Cannons made it devastating to other vehicles, the M117 thirty calibre mini-gun manned by a bored-looking Marine would chop infantry and light-vehicles up while the two 7.62mm calibre machine guns supported it and the small rocket pod mounted at the rear, just above the engine compartment, provided a reasonable defence against aircraft.

A small laser on a fast tracking mount atop the main turret provided an Active Defence System to shoot down missiles, rockets, mortar and artillery rounds.

Schweiger didn't know the tanks objective, but he pitied anything that got in it's way. His eyes drifted away from the war machine as it exited the gateway and the massive engines gave a throaty roar as the operator opened up the throttle.

At the landing pad opposite the bunker, the Colonial 'Raptor' dropship hovered a few metres above the ground, it's pilot gently lowering the craft until it's landing wheels set upon the ground with a dull thud, rocking the craft briefly.

The hatchway opened, revealing the now familiar figures of Commander Adama and Ambassador DeSenta, sans their environmental suits for the first time. During their time at Harvest, they had submitted to having some blood drawn and analysed by the medical staff at the rapidly expanding firebase; a handful of unidentified diseases had been detected, but it was a simple matter of an injection of powerful anti-biotics and anti-virals to immunise the base staff.

It was a stop-gap solution, but testing had confirmed the powerful medicines all but annihilated the diseases very rapidly and with regular injections of the cocktail, there was virtually no chance that anything insidious could spread to the UNSC personnel. All of this was done in an effort to not only ensure their guests' comfort, but also to learn more about their genetic makeup.

"Welcome back to Firebase Alpha, Commander, Ambassador," Schweiger greeted the two, offering his hand to DeSenta and helping her down from the Raptor. "Pleasant flight?"

"Yes, thank you," DeSenta replied with a polite smile as she looked around, noting the absence of someone that should have been there. "Where is Ambassador Greendale?"

"In the mess-hall, stuffing his face, no doubt," Schweiger answered dryly, the tone of his voice and the expression on his face letting DeSenta know that he wasn't kidding. She had, in truth, noticed that her counterpart was a little large.

"Shall we retire to the briefing room and await his arrival?" Schweiger suggested. "I'm sure you're anxious to finalise things and be on your way back home."

"Of course, Admiral," Adama spoke for the first time. "Lead the way."

**Harvest, Surface**

**192 kilometres South-South-West of Firebase Alpha**

**Platoon Charlie-One-Nine**

"The hell we doing out here?" Private Mickey Weeks complained as the M312 'Elephant' command vehicle trundled across the thickly packed snow of the valley.

"Shut your mouth, Private," Sergeant Sandra Benson hissed. "You know why we're here."

Charlie-One-Nine had been dispatched from Firebase Alpha just under four hours ago to investigate the apparent disappearance of close to three hundred civilians that had sought shelter at the base of Mount Hieronymus; the civilians in question had been in radio contact with the UNSC since their arrival on the planet's surface but had vehemently refused to be evacuated.

Their scheduled check-in at oh-five-hundred that morning had not come through and command had waited two hours before dispatching Charlie in the Elephant. Charlie consisted of four fire teams, six Marines in each team, plus the Elephant operators. Not a particularly powerful force, but adequate for checking in on a group of unruly civilians.

Weeks muttered a few curses under his breath before standing from the uncomfortable bench he and his team were occupying and heading up the ramp to the 'control centre' of the two hundred and five tonne vehicle.

"How much longer?" he questioned the person driving the massive vehicle, a petite Asian woman with a scar running from her left eyebrow to just above her lips.

"Not long," she answered with a sigh. "Two minutes and we should be there."

"Alright!" a voice cried out behind Weeks, making him jump a little. "On your feet Marines, stand-by to disembark!"

Lieutenant Armando Al-Jilad, CO of Charlie, began barking orders to the men and women under his command, looking on in satisfaction as the soldiers jumped to their feet and began securing their gear. Weeks himself trotted back to his seat, reaching above his head and unstrapping his 'baby'.

The M502 Squad Automatic Weapon fit in his hands with a reassuring weight. The weapon sported a two-hundred-fifty round drum magazine of 6mm depleted uranium slugs and an eleven hundred round per minute rate of fire.

Designed in 2502 to replace the positively ancient M366, the M502 had proven itself time and again as a powerful psychological weapon; it's loud staccato chatter, high firing rate and reasonable armour penetration made it a terror to anyone not wearing the latest body armour.

"Yo Weeks," Sergeant Benson called his name. "Get formed up, the vehicle will be stopping soon and we'll be humping it the rest of the way."

Weeks nodded his affirmative, suppressing a groan as he joined the rest of his team at the rear hatch. His team would be heading out on point, the other three teams trailing behind at intervals of no less than twenty metres.

Moments passed in silence before the Elephant finally came to a halt, the automated sentry guns mounted across it's hull scanning for any threats. The hatch opened and a ramp dropped down to the icy ground.

"Go, go, move it!" Benson half-shouted and Weeks' booted feet raced down the ramp alongside his team, SAW up and scanning. The six Marines spread out around the rear hatch, aiming their weapons in an overlapping field to cover the remaining teams as they disembarked from the Elephant.

"Standard drill," Al-Jilad said. "Get going, Marines, we gotta rescue some damn civvies from their own stupidity."

There were a few half-hearted chuckles from the assembled soldiers before they began to move out. The Marines made their way across the rough terrain as they started to enter an area thick with boulders, boots crunching on the snow as the wind made eerie noises as it travelled between the rocks.

They continued this way for several minutes before they found the first body. A middle-aged man, face down in the snow and half-covered by freshly fallen flakes. A quick inspection confirmed the cause of death: three plasma burns on his back.

"Call it in," Benson said to Private Stefan Riker, the teams long range radio man. The private spoke into the handset several times, fiddling with dials on the thin backpack-like radio before apparently giving up.

"Maybe some damp got into the gear, we should have another team call it in," Riker advised, heaving his shoulders in an almighty shrug.

"Do it," Benson nodded, and Riker used the headset built in to his tactical helmet before blinking in surprise.

"I'm not getting anything," Riker said, astonished. "They're within shouting distance, this shouldn't be happening."

"Radio check, now," Benson ordered, checking her own headset. Nothing.

"Problems?" Al-Jilad queried as he moved up to Benson and her team.

"Yes, sir," she replied. "None of our radios are getting any kind of signal; we're being jammed."

Al-Jilad frowned, checked his own radio and found it to not be working.

"Orders, sir?" Benson asked, looking to the lieutenant for guidance.

"We keep going, cautiously," he answered without hesitation. "Send a runner back to the Elephant, get us some orbital telemetry."

Before they had a chance to do anything, a whining pulse and flash of blue light sent bursts of steam rising into the air as the snow evaporated instantly. The assembled Marines scattered, seeking cover behind a series of boulders and dead trees as plasma rained down on them in earnest.

Al-Jilad took two hits to the chest, collapsed backwards with a startled yell and was struck several more times. Marines yelled out for orders, not sure whether they should disengage or return fire.

Weeks was the first to fire, sending a burst up the short incline to the sides of the 'valley' they were traversing and was rewarded with a satisfying shriek of pain from somewhere hidden in the sparse shrubbery.

Just like that, the other assembled Marines opened up, sending disciplined bursts of fire up at the points of origin of the plasma fire. Another man fell back with a cry before the plasma bolt that struck him melted away his throat, dooming him to a very painful death.

Weeks spied a flash of blue armour at the tree line and sent a twenty round burst at it. A silver flash confirmed he'd hit something with shields, but it wasn't a killing strike and blue plasma washed over the boulder he was sheltering behind in answer.

A bolt grazed Weeks' arm just above the elbow, boiling away the thin ceramic plating that covered the less vital parts of his anatomy and leaving second- and third-degree burns.

"Motherfucker!" he cried out, eyes stinging as he blinked away tears of pain. He swung the SAW up and out from cover, saw the blue-armoured alien darting from cover to cover, aimed and fired.

The light machine-gun hammered against his shoulder, spent casings melting into the snow at his feet as the DU slugs chattered away at the aliens cover, chipping away it's shield and turning it's body into dancing mannequin as it was riddled with bullets.

The constant crack of the squad Designated Marksman Rifle and the chatter of the assault rifles was deafening, but not so much so that Weeks missed the odd whooshing sound overhead. Looking up, he saw a strangely beautiful blue orb arcing high over him in the air before crashing down with a boom and sending up a spray of steam and molten earth right in in the midst of the second fire team.

The second team had taken cover as soon as the shooting started and had been laying down a suppressive fire up-slope on Weeks' right-hand side, forcing a group of Grunts to keep their heads down.

Plasma lashed down at Weeks and his team with renewed vigour as the second team was all-but wiped out, prompting Weeks and another Marine to switch their fire to cover the small aliens. The SAW pounded two aliens into the snow before the rest ducked out of view. Another blue comet streaked overhead, landing somewhere in the distance behind the hunkered down Marines.

Pink needles rained down at Sergeant Benson and the two Marines huddled with her, one man unfortunate enough to take a hit to the face, mulching his features as the needle detonated. The remaining Marines returned fire, cutting down a trio of Grunts that had felt the need to try and charge them.

Weeks swept the SAW over some shrubs, emptying the remainder of the drum and killing a handful more Grunts and one of the bird-like creatures. A sonic boom shattered the sky above him as he reloaded and he looked up to see two fiery streaks racing down from above, heading for some unknown target in the distance.

An enormous fireball just over two kilometres away told Weeks that it was probably a pair of precision fired Archer missiles from an orbiting warship and with the detonation, the jamming cleared up very suddenly.

"Base One-Nine, this is Charlie-One-Nine respond," Benson said remarkably calmly into her headset. "We are pinned down by hostile forces and require immediate support."

"Charlie-One-Nine, this is Base-One-Nine," the Elephant responded. "Reading you loud and clear; frigate Palatial is standing by for precision orbital support and gunship Avenger-Two-Six is en route for close fire support, ETA thirty seconds."

"Understood, Base-One-Nine," Benson grinned in relief. "Patch me through to Avenger-Two-Six, ground team will designate priority targets via laser designator."

"Understood, Charlie-One-Nine, patching you through now."

**_Crusader_-class Gunship Avenger-Two-Six**

**En Route to mission zone**

The Crusader gunship was a new addition to the UNSC, armed with a series of rapid fire auto-cannons ranging from 25mm to 50mm and 90mm as well as a 180mm Magnetic Accelerator Cannon and eight .50 calibre mini-guns for defence, the gunship weighed in at just under 600 tonnes.

Kept aloft by an unreliable and power hungry first generation inertial dampening field and a series of thrusters, the gunship was usually deployed from space by an orbiting carrier.

As the gunship entered the mission zone airspace, a laser designator on the ground activated and lit up targets for the gunnery crew.

"Gunners," the gunship's tactical advisor spoke. "Advise sticking to 25mm for close support, we don't want to tally any friendly kills."

"Acknowledged," the gunnery crew answered, the 25mm gunner sighting up on the designated target and firing a stream of HE rounds.

Down on the ground, Weeks huddled behind his boulder as a hundred plus rounds pulverized a group of aliens at the top of the slope on his left, covering his ears as the HE rounds churned up the ground. Benson aimed the designator up the right-hand slope and another stream of shells ripped apart the hostile position there.

Lasing the last group of attackers, those directly in front of the fire team, Benson ducked back down into cover as more HE rounds detonated, ripping apart dead trees and throwing up buckets of dirt and snow and turning the assembled aliens into paste.

"Good job gunners," the advisor spoke. "Orbital telemetry has new targets, half a kilometre North of ground team. Hostile vehicles, do you see them?"

"Negative, nothing on scope."

"Track North along the valley, you will see them."

The gunnery crews tracked their weapon sights North slowly, scanning for the hostile vehicles. The 50mm gunner was the first to spot them, by virtue of another plasma orb fired from one of the assembled tanks drawing attention to itself.

"Got them," the gunner said triumphantly. "Lasing target, follow the line."

The other gunners tracked the targeting laser to see a small group of alien tanks and light reconnaissance vehicles.

"Recommend big guns," the advisor spoke. "180, concentrate on hostile armour. 90, the LRVs. You are cleared to engage all of those."

"Acknowledged," the gunners answered, the MAC sighting up on one of the tanks. A shudder ran through the gunship as the main gun fired, the dense tungsten round punching into the vulnerable top of the tank and destroying it instantly.

"Boom, nice shooting," the advisor praised as the gunship banked around to circle the vehicle group.

The 90mm auto-cannon opened up, the constant thump-thump reverberating through the gunship satisfying the crew as targets on the ground disappeared under a hail of HE rounds designed to suppress tanks and demolish buildings.

Several LRVs tried to get away, successfully evading the 90mm rounds only to be tracked by the 50mm and 25mm gunners, streams of smaller HE rounds hammering the hover-bikes into the ground and turning the ground into a miasma of shallow craters.

The MAC fired again, striking the remaining tank dead on target, obliterating the driver as the round passed clean through the middle of the tank.

"Good hits," the advisor said with a grin. "Pilot, bank left and circle ground team, returning to close-support duties. Gunners, 25 and 50 only."

The lumbering gunship turned back around to bring itself over the ground team as the Marines scurried back to their transport. The Marines made it back without incident and the gunship remained on-station as a precaution as Human Entry Vehicles began streaking down from orbit, each one containing an elite Orbital Drop Shock Trooper.

Dropships were converging on the Elephants position, carrying Marines and equipment to set up a temporary firebase that would serve as the operation centre as the UNSC scoured Mount Hieronymus for more Covenant activity.

The question everyone was asking themselves during that time, though, was "how did we miss this?"

**A/N: **Not related to this chapter.I did a quick calculation of the Covenant's slip-space drive. According to Ghosts Of Onyx the Covenant get to this one system 38 light years away in one hour, just multiply it by 24 hours and you get 912 light years a day, now multiply it by a year and you get 332,880 light years. In other words, the Covenant slip-space driveis capable of propelling a ship to 332,880 times the speed of light.

Canon UNSC cover 17 light years in 2 weeks. That's 1.21 light years per day. Which comes out to 441.65 times the speed of light. Rather big difference between them, no?


	15. Reinforcements

**Picon Anchorage**

**Orbiting Picon**

**Twelve Colonies of Kobol**

Thousands of people on warships and orbital stations had gathered all around to witness the arrival of a Covenant warship. It had been a terrifying thought, imagining the nigh unstoppable Covenant war machine descending upon the Colonies, but the arrival of this ship was greeted with cheers.

Captured during the first battle of Aurelia, this alien ship was seen by many as a blessing. A science division boarded the vessel less than a day after it had been captured, setting to work on the internal systems and surprisingly quickly figuring out the slip-space drive with the aid of captive alien prisoners and setting course for the Colonies.

There was hope soaring through the hearts and minds of millions at the thought of turning the aliens own technology against them, although some of the more pessimistic people realised that by the time they were able to duplicate any of the Covenant ships technology, it could be too late.

Admiral Nagala was one of those people. He watched as the ship clumsily made it's way to one of the battlestar slipways, shaking his head slightly. The two consecutive wins at Aurelia had been a boon for morale all across the fleet, but the cost had been atrocious.

Of course, President Adar's speechwriters skipped over that part, claiming that this was a turning point in the whole war. Nagala knew better. The Covenant would come back in increasing numbers until the Colonial fleet gathered at Aurelia was in tatters.

The original plan was sound; by placing such a large fleet there, it was hoped that the Covenant would expend their resources taking Aurelia. The system itself was one of the furthest-flung from the Colonies still under their control and already there had been a noticeable decrease in Covenant activity in the systems closer to the Colonies.

It was a stalling tactic though and how much time it bought depended on how many ships the Covenant decided to throw at the fleet assembled at Aurelia. They had to make good use of that time.

"I'd recommend concentrating all of our efforts on no more than two or three projects at a time," Doctor Gaius Baltar said from his position beside the admiral as he too tracked the battered alien ship with his eyes. "If we try to figure out everything all at once, it's going to cause delays, which is something we can't afford."

"Anything you need, Doctor," Nagala replied gruffly. "All the resources of the Colonies are at your fingertips."

"Right," the shorter man said. "Well, firstly we're going to want to look at power production, shields and laser weapons; these three technologies alone would turn the war significantly more in our favour. I'm going to need all the top minds in astrophysics, quantum mechanics, xeno-linguistics anything at all really, that might prove pertinent."

"You'll have it all," Nagala assured. "Unlocking the secrets of that ship is our number one priority."

"I'd also like to see if we can get some scientific expertise transferred to us from our new acquaintances," Baltar continued, looking to the admiral expectantly.

"That could prove to be much more difficult," the admiral responded after a pause. "I'll see what can be done, but I make no promises."

"Of course, of course."

"What about those new rail-gun designs that were sent to us?" Nagala queried, turning away from the view port to face Baltar.

"They're better than any of our designs, more energy efficient and they're able to propel the round to a higher velocity while also retaining a superior rate of fire," Baltar answered. "A number of ships are already being refit with them as we speak, which of course, you'd already know."

"You know, it's really quite amazing that the Thirteenth Tribe would be able attain such a technological superiority over us, having the resources of only a handful of worlds," Baltar mused, to which Nagala gave a half-hearted grunt of acknowledgment; the older man was not yet certain that they were dealing with the fabled Thirteenth Tribe.

"Still, with these new gun designs we can fire larger rounds at greater velocity, which should prove to be quite useful," Baltar finished.

"Indeed," Nagala said. "Perhaps you should go about getting ready to study the alien ship, doctor."

**Epsilon Indi System**

**Half an AU from Harvest**

Space seemed to boil and ooze as intense bursts of radiation lit up the sensor consoles of ships and stations throughout the system, reality rending itself asunder as a rift between real-space and slip-stream space formed.

From the rift tumbled a small vessel which quickly accelerated away from the sickening greenish-blue light show as another ship, followed by another and another in a seemingly endless stream tore itself free from slip-space.

Watching in awe from the bridge of the _Entropy_ as the might of Third Fleet forced it's way into the Epsilon Indi system, Admiral Schweiger and Commander Adama felt wrath overcome them as they thought of the things such a large force could do to the Covenant.

"All these ships are going to the Colonies?" Adama asked, breaking the silence between the two men.

Schweiger shook his head as cruisers started to make their way through the rift in space-time.

"Not likely," he answered. "You'll be lucky to get two full task forces. Fortunately, HICOM has recognised that frigates aren't going to be much use in a fleet engagement with the aliens, so nothing less capable than a destroyer will be sent."

They watched for a moment more as the serried ranks of the fleet began to spread out, splitting up into squadrons, battle groups and task forces.

"HICOM isn't interested in just holding the line against the Covenant." Schweiger continued. "I have it on good authority that the President of the UEG, the Minister of Colonial Administration and the UNSC Joint Chiefs are going to officially announce the existence of the Covenant to the general public, as well as officially declare war on them."

Taking a breath, Schweiger continued his brief explanation of how things were proceeding in his government. "Once war has been officially declared, Third Fleet is likely to receive orders to split off into task forces of thirty or so ships and commence operations to find and engage the Covenant around your Colonies. The rest of Third Fleet will remain at Harvest, turning this system into a staging area for operations in your region of space."

Adama listened intently to the older man; while his hopes had sunk somewhat at only getting a fraction of the forces being assembled here to come to the aid of the Colonies, he was glad to know that the Earth-born people were planning on taking the fight to the Covenant.

"Sir," the _Entropy_'s communications officer called for Schweiger's attention, prompting the admiral to make his way over to the officer. "Communication from the _Shapeshifter_, Admiral Holland on the line for you."

The _Shapeshifter_ was the flagship of Third Fleet; a heavily modified and upgraded Halcyon-class cruiser, sporting a triple-barrelled MAC firing tungsten carbide rounds and capable of firing every few seconds, oversized missile pods and a significantly increased rail-gun and CIWS load out.

There were only two like it in existence. The extensive refitting had been intended to modernize the old cruisers, but it was massively labour intensive and cost-prohibitive to the point that it was easier to simply design and produce an entirely new cruiser class. Bureaucratic squabbling had seen the end of the triple MAC design under claims that it was too expensive and was overkill against anything less than a capital ship, which was something the rebels were sorely lacking.

Given the situation with the Covenant, Schweiger was certain that viewpoint would change sometime in the not too distant future.

"Put her through, please," Schweiger said to the comm. Officer. The younger man nodded once curtly and activated the bridge speakers and vid viewers.

The smiling, lined face of a grey haired older woman greeted Schweiger and Adama from across space and between ships.

"Wilhelm," the woman said warmly. "It's good to see you, it's been far too long. Fleet Command sends it's regards."

"I'm glad to see you too, Judith," Schweiger replied with a smile. "I've not heard from Fleet Command in some time, everything alright with him?"

Fleet Command was the rather eccentric meta-stable Artificial Intelligence construct that oversaw all Navy operations from deep within an armoured bunker on Reach. The construct itself was known to be very friendly with a large number of Admirals and Generals, routinely performing a variety of favours for them.

It lacked any defined gender, with an avatar that changed on a regular basis, haveing never chosen a name for itself and keeping a decidedly neutral voice pattern, so it wasn't uncommon for the construct be referred to as 'it', 'he' or 'she' by a number of different people, generally based on said persons preferences.

"Fleet Command is fine, Wilhelm, it's just been a little busy of late," Holland replied before turning her gaze to Adama.

"Fleet Admiral Judith Holland, allow me to present Commander William Adama, military representative of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol," Schweiger introduced the two after realising his rather rude failure to do so. "Commander Adama, Fleet Admiral Holland, commanding officer of Third Fleet in it's entirety and of the 12th Cruiser Task Force."

"A pleasure, Commander," Holland greeted Adama.

"Likewise, Admiral," Adama replied, dipping his slightly in greeting. "Forgive my impatience, but when do you plan on getting underway to the Colonies?"

"Perfectly understandable," Holland said with a faint upturning at the corner of her lips. "It shouldn't be any more than two local days before the first task forces depart."

A great weight seemed to suddenly be lifted from the commander's shoulders as a barely audible sigh escaped his lips. His mission was almost over and at this point it seemed that his objectives were accomplished.

"First task forces?" Schweiger queried, looking to Holland for the answer.

"Yes," Holland said. "The Joint Chiefs have decided that they'd rather be prepared to go on the offensive as soon as war is officially declared; over the next three months, no less than two hundred and eighty warships are going to be committed to the Colonial front."

"That's seven standard task forces! " Schweiger exclaimed, his usually calm features replaced with look of amazement. "HICOM isn't beating around the bush with this."

"That's good news," Adama agreed heartily. "I only hope that it's going to be enough; CID firmly believes that the forces we've seen so far are just a fraction of what the Covenant can bring to bear."

"If that's the case," Holland said. "We'd better hope we can reverse engineer those wonderful shields of theirs. I'm told it's going to be tremendously difficult, though, given that most of our recovered samples of shield components are in varying states of damage. The mathematics behind it are apparently mind-boggling as well. "

Schweiger frowned to himself a little. "If the Covenant are only bringing to bear a fraction of their fleet strength, where's the rest of it going?"

No one had an answer.

_**Heretic's Refuge**_**, **_**Great Journey-**_**class battlestation, formerly **_**Hierarchs Light**_

**237.9 light-years from Colonial space**

**Heretic cleansing in progress**

Zora Zomanee shrieked in rage as radioactive pellets pelted his shield, firing down the length of the damaged cruiser's port docking bay. The heretic Sangheili warbled in agony as star-hot plasma met flesh, the other warrior's own shield depleted already.

Manawa trundled past his larger companion, needler sending explosive crystalline shards into another heretic as Zomanee leapt over the smouldering debris of a Seraph starfighter, swinging his rifle like a club onto the thick skull of a heretic Unggoy. The creature died without a sound, a squirt of luminous blood spraying across Zomanee's face.

The deck heaved beneath Zomanee's feet as the great battlestation traded blows with a group of cruisers and destroyers. When the battlestation had been taken over by the heretics of the hundred-thousand strong crew, the loyalist forces had put up a tremendous fight and managed to disable one of the stations shield generators, which allowed Zomanee and the other twelve thousand members of the strike force to enter the station largely unopposed.

Their objective was to secure one (or, preferably, all) of the dozen control rooms aboard the station to shut down the guns harassing the friendly ships outside and to shut down more shield generators to allow more loyalist soldiers to board the station and clear it of heretics.

The ships firing on the station - and taking fire in return - couldn't hope to breach it's shields any time soon, but they were just a distraction, keeping the command and gunnery crews busy and thus drawing defenders away from the fight inside the station. It was a great deal of trouble, and were it a ship that had been taken over by the heretics, it would most probably have simply been destroyed, but this station was one of only seven within a thousand light-year radius and it's ability to repair and rearm a dozen battle-cruisers at once made it vital to the war effort.

Given the immense size of the spider-like station, the hundred thousand strong crew (now estimated to be less than thirty thousand after the rebellion) was pretty small, but also all that was needed thanks to the largely automated rearm and repair process.

Plasma rained down at Zomanee from the upper deck as he dashed for cover, several bolts splashing harmlessly across his shields. The star hot plasma singed the edges of a crate that he dove behind as a keening whine started up. A loyal Jiralhanae charged into the bay, lugging a plasma cannon and spewing hundreds of bolts up at the attacking Unggoy and Sangheili above.

Zomanee snarled in contempt, plasma rifle whining as white-blue bolts splashed across the chest of a heretic Unggoy, the smaller alien squealing before collapsing in a heap, corpse smouldering. He looked forward to returning to Noranee and the Righteous Fury once this was all over and learning of what the Fleet Master had in store for him and Manawa.

His companion trundled up beside him, drawing in laboured breaths through his mask as the station shuddered again.

"Leader," Manawa said, gesturing to an open doorway on their level, some thirty metres away, that led deeper into the station. "We go?"

Zomanee nodded as the battle died down around him; the heretics had been overwhelmed and were falling back. "We go."

The duo leapt from cover, crossing the distance quickly and entered the doorway into a short corridor beyond. According to the station schematic on Zomanee's HUD, there was a local gunnery command centre a hundred and sixty metres from his current location, with a local shield generator another three hundred metres beyond that.

A pair of Sangheili and a half dozen Unngoy followed the duo as they made their way to the gunnery control centre, encountering light resistance along the way in the form of a single Sangheili and two Unggoy trying to protect an intersection.

Taking out the gunnery control centre would ease the pressure on the ships outside, if only marginally, and it was on the way to the shield generator anyway. A handful more loyal soldiers had joined them by now and Zomanee and another Sangheili stood to either side of the reinforced door that led to the gunnery position.

They intended to blow the door, only to find the locking mechanism melted away. Frowning and cautious now, Zomanee nodded to his counterpart and they carefully pried the door open, covered by three Unggoy while the rest of the group watched their backs.

"By the rings," Zomanee breathed as he laid eyes on the interior of the gunnery position. Six Sangheili, fourteen Unngoy. All dead, still manning their stations, as though none of them had seen their attackers.

There was no blood; most of them had had their necks snapped and a few had cauterised wounds characteristic to an energy blade. Stepping deeper into the room, mandibles hanging slack in shock, Zomanee noted that not a single shot had been fired and all of the consoles remained perfectly intact.

On the far most wall, beside the only other door to the room, a symbol had been carved into the armoured alloy; a straight vertical line with an inverted "V", the point at the halfway mark of the line.

"Leader," Manawa whispered, eyes flitting about the room as though expecting to be attacked at any time. "What that mean?"

Zomanee clacked his mandibles closed, glancing at the loyal soldiers around him. They all looked as surprised as he felt and none of them seemed to recognise the symbol.

"I do not know," he finally replied. "But we are not alone on this station."

The team moved on, images of heretics slain before they even knew their attackers were in the room with them fresh in their minds, heading for their primary objective, the shield generator. The encountered dozens of corpses along the way, all killed in the same manner as those in the gunnery control room, no shots fired.

Several times they happened upon doors that should have been locked, but all had had their locking mechanisms melted through. The group were starting to get spooked now, the Unggoy in particular. Manawa never strayed more than two feet from Zomanee's side.

The deck no longer heaved and shuddered beneath their feet and the sounds of fighting had long since receded in this part of the immense station. Finally, the came to the blast doors to the shield generator. Four Sangheili guards lay on the ground outside, all dead from broken necks. Again, no shots fired.

The door had been breached in the same manner as the others and again, a dozen bodies were found inside. This time, there was evidence of a brief firefight, one which the heretics quite clearly lost. It looked to Zomanee like they had been confused, firing randomly in all directions.

Each one had a single wound, consistent with energy blade strikes, to the abdomen. The shield generator had been shut down, all of the consoles and monitoring stations still in perfect working order. On the wall to the left of the only entrance to the room, a symbol identical to the one in the gunnery control centre had been carved with an energy blade.

"What happened here?" one of the slack-jawed loyalist Sangheili asked, taking in the state of the room.

No one had an answer.

**A/N: **CID is short for Colonial Intelligence Division, I don't recall if I already said that in an earlier chapter at the moment. This may be the last update for a while since I'm going to be headed off on a road-trip soon, but I'll try and get the next chapter up before I leave.


	16. Declaration

**Harvest, Surface**

**Mount Hieronymus**

**12th**** Marines, 105****th**** Helljumpers, 22****nd**** Armour and 3****rd**** Special Operations Group engaging Covenant forces.**

Progress up into the mountain had been swift, at first. Scant trees made it easier for gunships to support the troops and relatively even terrain allowed the vehicles to keep up.

Now, though, the trees were thick, coated with snow, making it difficult at best for gunships to spot targets, the ground was hard to traverse even for the Marines and the vehicles had fallen behind. Even if the gunships had been able to see what they were shooting at, shrapnel from the trees would have made it dangerous for the ground pounders.

The had met little resistance out in the open and what they had met had withered away quickly under combined arms. In the woods, however, they were constantly subjected to ambushes and hit and run attacks as well as the occasional booby-trap.

Private Mickey Weeks grunted as he hauled ass toward a tree that had collapsed from a plasma grenade blast, hurling himself to the ground with a jarring thud that clacked his teeth together painfully. The world around him seemed to explode as the short exchange of fire that prompted him to take cover turned into a full-blown skirmish.

Dozens of assault rifles and machine guns roared, spitting depleted uranium slugs at the attacking aliens as plasma and pink needles answered in kind. Weeks propped his SAW up on the fallen tree, resting it on the bipod, and sent a stream of fire into the trees, concentrating on a source of fire.

Plasma bolts struck back at him, setting the log alight as a pair of Marines fell to the ground shrieking in agony; the armour ensured that they'd live, but the burns they suffered from the plasma took them out of the fight.

A grenade detonated somewhere among the alien lines, sending a shower of snow and gore flying through the air. More plasma answered and a Marine hit the ground beside Weeks, his face half melted off, clearly dead. Weeks bit back bile at the stink of burned flesh and fired another long burst.

An ODST, shouting a string of curses, landed on his belly beside Weeks, reflective visor cracked.

"Hey buddy!" the ODST shouted at Weeks, slapping his shoulder. "Gimme some cover, will ya? Gotta pop this positioning beacon so the gunships can get a clear idea of where those critters are at."

"Yeah," Weeks said back, nodding. "Just say when!"

The ODST nodded, hugging the cylindrical positioning beacon close to his chest, apparently satisfied that Weeks would keep him covered. Weeks braced the SAW against his shoulder and nodded before letting loose an extended burst, waving the weapon back and forth. He had no idea if he was actually hitting anything, but the amount of fire coming his way slackened considerably as the aliens took cover.

The ODST leaped to his feet as this was happening, running full tilt at the alien frontline, rearing his arm back and depressing a button on the top of the cylinder as he charged before tossing the device withal his might and hitting the deck. The ODST rolled over madly, taking cover behind a scorched tree as snow evaporated behind him from close plasma blasts.

Somewhere from high above the canopy of trees, the sky rained down; hundreds of 25mm rounds speared through the canopy from a pair of Crusader gunships, strafing the area around the powerful beacon. Trees splintered, sending deadly shrapnel in all directions as snow, dirt and gore sprayed into the air.

Weeks heard someone whoop in joy over the noise as 90mm rounds pummelled the trees and ground further on, saturating an area some 300 metres squared with rounds designed to kill tanks. The alien forces trying to retreat from the hail of deadly anti-infantry fire ran straight into the maelstrom of anti-tank rounds.

The way ahead now effectively clear, the assembled Marines and ODSTs resumed their advance.

**Mount Hieronymus**

**3****rd**** Special Operations Group (SOG) Designate 'Aesir One-Seven)**

**Operating behind enemy lines**

Aaron crouched, his surgically enhanced eyesight picking over the interior of the unnatural cave formation. Six bodies; ODSTs. How they'd gotten this far, he didn't know. But they had all died within moments of each other, each one sporting an ugly, cauterized wound, consistent with plasma damage but looking less like a gunshot wound and more like a slashing or stabbing attack.

He moved silently forward, not even his armour making a sound. Lightweight, stealthy and durable, the Trident Mark II armour was designed for engagements in any environment, no matter how hostile, and was able to withstand dozens of armour-piercing assault rifle rounds before suffering a failure; how it would hold up against plasma weapons remained to be seen.

His remarkable eyesight picked out an unusual gouge in the wall of unknown alloy; a straight vertical line with an inverted V shape, the tip at the halfway point of the line. Confusion muddled his thoughts for a split second. The last thing he'd expected to find here was hippies.

He stood, shouldering the G1A1 gauss rifle and picking his way carefully past the bodies, idly wondering where the rest of his team was and what was taking them so long to catch up.

He took a moment to reflect on his situation; he'd been training almost his entire life to infiltrate and hunt down Insurrectionists and now here he was, in an obviously ancient alien facility hunting down more aliens that had apparently not taken a shine to humanity.

"Not exactly what I thought I'd be doing right now," he murmured quietly to himself just as he heard the faintest of sounds behind him, like a foot shifting on the alien alloy flooring, a sound he would never have heard if not for his enhancements. His body acted before he even knew what was happening, twisting sharply to the left as he heard a _snap-hiss_.

Incredible heat washed over he back as he ducked to the side and he felt the skin beneath his armour blister instantly. He spun around to confront his assailant, unnaturally fast, caught a glimpse of a blade of light suspended in mid-air, then was spinning away again is the blade was thrust at his mid-section.

Aaron swung his rifle up and fired a round, a flash of light confirmed he'd struck a shieldbut the blade came back at his neck fast. He tilted over backwards, placing one hand on the ground and flipping over to the left, striking out with his right foot as he did so and hitting something solid before landing back on his feet.

Before he'd even regained his balance, his invisible opponent was lashing out at him again; he twisted sharply out of the way of another thrust, managing to squeeze off two more barely-aimed shots, one round missing and the other striking the shield at an oblique angle and ricocheting into a wall.

The blade swung back around in a wide arc and he stepped out of the way, the very tip of the blade grazing his armoured breast-plate and melting away the top layer of armour instantly. More skin blistered and he grit his teeth against the pain.

"This is Alpha-Three to Alpha-Lead," Aaron said into his helmet radio as he spun away from another thrust and struck back, his fist grazing his invisible assailant's side. "I've been engaged…by…hostile SF! Need assistance!"

"Alpha-Three, Alpha-Lead," his team leader replied promptly. "Alpha-One is en route, ETA momentarily."

The blade came around again and Aaron instinctively raised his rifle to block the blow, succeeding only in deflecting it and having his weapon sliced in half. He dodged backwards, dancing lightly on his toes and drawing his combat knife.

There was a snort, followed by an electrical crackling as, slowly but surely, the cloaking device deactivated, revealing a particularly large specimen of the alien type that the Marines were no referring to as 'Elites'.

The alien extended its arm towards him, strange, mandibular mouth working as it spat out a stream of garbled, unintelligible words. Then, it was moving, far faster than a creature as large and unseemly looking as this should be capable of.

The sword came at him from the side and he spun away, mindful that a single decent strike would be the end of him, the ducked in close and slashed across the aliens chest; sparks flew as the blade gouged a track in the thin, strong armour followed by a spray of purple-black blood.

The Elite swung a massive fist, Aaron not quite dodging it in time and taking a glancing blow to the head that sent him spiralling to the ground, dazed. The visor was cracked and lines of static distorted his HUD. He rolled to the left as the energy sword stabbed down, melting through ultra-dense alloy like it wasn't even there as he sprang back to his feet, switching his stance to southpaw.

_Where the hell's the rest of my team?, _Aaron thought to himself, keenly aware that he was losing this fight. The Elite snorted again, apparently amused, as it pulled its sword free with no apparent effort.

It raised it's sword wielding arm above its head, gave a roar and launched itself across the few meters that separated them with ease in a lunge that Aaron barely got out of the way of, the blade passing close enough to his face that he felt the heat radiating from it.

The Elite skidded to a halt and turned to face him again in one fluid moved, slashing downward diagonally across Aarons chest as he jumped back, cutting another shallow, molten ditch through the nano-weave. If this kept up much longer, he'd be combat ineffective before he knew it.

He drew his sidearm as he danced out of the aliens reach, a modified M6 pistol with an extended twenty round mag and fire selector that allowed him to fire single shots or full auto. His thumbed flicked the selector to auto as he brought it and he squeezed the trigger as he continued backing away from the Elite as it advanced on him steadily.

The magazine emptied in two seconds flat, every single round striking the Elite in the chest and succeeding in doing nothing but creating a light show on its shield. The sword flashed up faster than Aaron could react and he watched in disbelief as the handgun - still clenched in his hand - soared through the air and landed five or so feet away.

Very little blood exited the wound by virtue of the heat of the energy blade cauterizing it and there was no pain - just a feeling of coldness, indicating that the nerve endings had been seared shut. The pain would come later, assuming he lived.

The Elite stood there for a time, head cocked to one side as though confused and Aaron, seeing what might be his last chance, went on the offensive. He stepped in close, faster than the alien expected and rammed the twelve inch combat knife into it's stomach all the way to the hilt..

The Elite stumbled back a step, grabbing Aarons arm and twisting sharply until something popped then kicked him in the stomach hard, flinging him backwards almost ten feet. Several ribs broken and with a punctured lung, Aaron writhed on the ground, trying to get a grip on the agony he felt and trying to force himself to stand up and keep fighting.

The alien pulled the knife from itself, dropping it with a clatter to the alloy floor as the human soldier dragged himself towards one of the slain ODSTs. It spoke to him as it stalked towards him, the words unintelligible.

"Well met, human," a metallic sounding voice said a moment after it stopped speaking; a translator of some kind, Aaron's muddled mind realised just as he reach what he'd wanted.

He rolled over, facing his tormentor as it neared and raised his broken arm, hand wrapped around the pistol grip of an M7-D 6.5mm caseless submachine gun, the preferred weapon of UNSC special forces the galaxy over. The small inbuilt ammunition counter indicated that the magazine was almost full.

"Go to hell," he managed to growl out as he squeezed the trigger, emptying the forty remaining rounds in the magazine into the Elite, spikes of agony shooting along his ruined limb as it absorbed the recoil. The Elite's shield flickered and it raised an arm in front of it's face as it staggered forward under the assault, drawing it's other arm back to stab down at the helpless solder as the gun clicked dry.

Aaron glared defiantly at his killer from behind his armoured visor and watched in astonishment as the arm holding the energy sword separated itself from it's owner, the alien howling in pain as it turned to face it's new attacker…and disappeared.

The wounded soldier turned his head to the side, smiling gratefully as he took in the appearance of Alpha-One, Hakim, clad in body armour identical to his own and toting an MS-22 automatic shotgun.

"The other's are coming," Hakim's voice came to him over his helmet speakers as the other soldier gestured with his shotgun to the floor; a trail of blood lead deeper into the catacombs. "I think we're safe for the moment."

"Thanks," Aaron croaked. "That bastard had me dead to rights."

"No problem," Hakim said distractedly as he cautiously moved towards his wounded comrade, sweeping his weapon around in a wide arc. "This cave…is not a natural formation."

Aaron hacked out a coughing laugh. "No shit."

**Titan Station, Orbital Command Centre**

**Reach**

**Presidential Speech - simultaneous broadcast**

President Rose-Marie Wiesz-Parker had stared down the cameras like a seasoned veteran, she noted. An older woman just beginning to show grey hairs and fine lines on her face, she had a strong jaw line courtesy of her Austrian-born father and warm brown eyes that spoke of compassion; a compassion that had allowed her to win her second term on office after the super-volcano eruption on the colony world Anticus II and the way which she'd handled the disaster that had cost just shy of two million lives, despite the early warning and a fortnight worth of evacuations.

The speech had been filmed thirty-nine hours ago but wasn't to air for another few minutes yet; slip-space courier drones had been launched carrying the speech to every colony in Earth territory.

It was well known fact that the smaller an object was, the faster it was able to navigate slip-space, which was one of a few reasons why ships larger than a cruiser were rare sights among the fleet. The drones were about the same size a fighter-bomber and lacked a Shaw-Fujikawa Translight drive of their own and were, as such, launched into the other dimension by control platforms and retrieved by system patrol cutters upon reaching their destination.

"It's time, Madam President," Wiesz-Parker's ever loyal assistant Robby said softly as he poked his head around the corner of her spacious office. "Will you be watching it in here?"

"Yes, thank you," she replied, smiling softly. "Would you care to join me in a drink? I think we'll both need it."

"Of course, Madam President," Robby replied, stepping into the office fully and taking a seat as the President poured them both a glass from a six thousand dollar bottle of scotch and a holographic display flickered to life.

"There were protocols for this, Robby," she said sadly as she handed him his drink. "Meeting intelligent species, I mean. Not a single one of them gave even a vague guideline of what to do in the event that they prove immediately hostile."

She shook her head and sipped at the alcohol, letting it burn it's way down her throat. "God, I hope I did the right thing."

"You had no other choice, ma'am," Robby said softly, laying his hand on hers. "After what happened to Harvest, 'they' left you with none."

"I'm going to be the first president in almost three centuries to officially declare interstellar war," she said. "And the first in history to declare war on…on-on aliens!"

Robby went to say something, but the broadcast started before he could.

"People of Earth and all her colonies…"

**Myrmidon-class carrier **_**Entropy**_

**High Orbit, Harvest**

**That same time**

"…we face a crisis like no other we have ever seen before. We have searched the stars for millennia, first with the naked eye, then with powerful telescopes and even in our own ships, seeking an answer to a question mankind has asked since we gained the capacity to ponder such things: are we alone?"

Rear-Admiral Schweiger watched, transfixed, like every single other member of the Entropy's crew and indeed every single other human not presently engaging the Covenant on the surface in the whole system, the whole sector, the whole of colonised space even, as history happened before his eyes.

Commander Adama sat beside him, equally engrossed and beside Adama was Eva DeSenta.

"The answer has been found. We are not alone. For the first time in human history, we have encountered an intelligence greater than our own…and they are not as friendly as we had always hoped. Rumours have spread like wild-fire throughout the colonies, rumours of a fleet of unknown ships attacking an Outer Colony without provocation, without mercy, and killing hundreds of thousands in the process…"

**Novus**

**Office of Naval Intelligence Advanced Research and Training Facility**

Michael Dunston took a large gulp of his beer as he watched the broadcast from the comfort of his private quarters, all thoughts of anything other than the next words out of the President of the UEG's mouth absent from his mind.

"…these are not just rumours; they are true. As horrifying as it is, an intelligent species has deemed us unfit for continued existence; the defences at Harvest in the Epsilon Indi system were swept aside with ease, the valiant soldiers defending the planet and it's helpless inhabitants slaughtered without mercy."

The camera zoomed in on the president's face, showcasing the real emotion there for all the galaxy to see.

"We must show these aggressors that we will not take their attacks lying down, we must show them that we cannot be pushed around and we must show them that attacking us was the biggest mistake they could have made."

The president's voice had changed during the last sentence, going from soft and almost mournful to being filled with a cold, calculated outrage.

"Therefore, under the advice given to me by the Joint Chiefs Of Staff and the Colonial Administration Authority, I, President of the Unified Earth Government Rose-Marie Wiesz-Parker, officially declare a state of war on the alien empire calling itself the Covenant."

**Epsilon Indi**

**Flag Bridge, UNSCDFS **_**Shapeshifter**_

"That's it," Fleet Admiral Judith Holland said, still watching the hologram. "That's our cue, ladies and gentlemen. Bring the fleet up to Alert Charlie, all hands to stand-by for immediate transition to slip-space. Is our course plotted?"

"Aye, ma'am, we're good to go," the lieutenant that served as her liaison to the Captains Bridge replied after conferring for a moment with her counterpart on the other bridge.

"Ma'am, message from the _Entropy_; 'good luck and good hunting, Wilhelm'," her communications officer relayed to her.

"Thank you, Wilhelm," she said to herself, then aloud. "All units transition on my mark. Communications, send a message to the Colonials, tell them to meet us at the coordinates they gave us."

"Aye, ma'am, message sent and acknowledged," Comms. replied quickly.

"Excellent," Holland said, extricating a six hundred year old stopwatch from her breast pocket. " Commence thirty second countdown to transition on my mark…mark!"

"All ships report full drive functionality, we're warmed up and good to go, ma'am," Comms. said after the countdown started.

Space before the _Shapeshifter _and, indeed, every other ship in the fleet boiled an iridescent green, seeming to stretch and contract at the same time before ripping itself apart in a fantastic display of light and radiation and the _Shapeshifter_, followed by dozens of cruisers and carriers and a hundred or so destroyers, forced itself into slip-stream space.

**Epsilon Indi**

**Myrmidon-class carrier Entropy**

**That same time**

Adama and Schweiger watched the departure of Third Fleet in silence as the presidential speech came to an end, each reflecting on the past month of their lives. Certainly, neither man had thought they'd be where they were now, but at the same time neither were certain if they would change things, if given the chance.

"I should get back to my ship and get underway," Adama broke the silence, turning to face Schweiger.

"Of course, best of luck to you, Bill," Schweiger said, turning and holding out his hand, which Adama shook firmly.

"And to you."

DeSenta smiled slightly at the exchange before speaking up. "What about me? My government wants me to stay here as an ambassador on a semi-permanent basis."

"We've discussed this at length ," Schweiger said, gesturing to Adama. "I've had temporary quarters set up for you at Firebase Alpha; something more permanent will have to be worked out at a later time, when things aren't so chaotic. Is this acceptable?"

"Quite so, thank you Admiral," she replied with a courteous nod. She kept her concern well hidden; had not even discussed it with Commander Adama. Her concerns regarding this UNSC were extensive; they were technically advanced and clearly had significant industrial capabilities, they made extensive use of artificial intelligence and even cybernetics.

The wounds from the Cylon War were old, not quite fully closed, and DeSenta herself had been just a girl during the fighting, but she'd lost family and friends and as such didn't particularly like overly advanced computers. Her main concern was what would happen when the war with the Covenant was over. Would the UNSC and the Colonies remain friendly to one another, or maybe go their separate ways, or would the UNSC try to conquer them? Worse, would the Colonial Government and Admiralty try to conquer the UNSC?


	17. King Of Fools

**Picon Anchorage**

**Twelve Colonies of Kobol**

**Admiral Nagala's Office**

Admiral Nagala rubbed his left temple slowly, releasing a long sigh as he did so. Before him on his desk lay various open dossiers; ship production reports, R & D reports, after action reports and fleet deployment reports to name but a few. He liked to remain informed on the situation of the war.

Two major victories at Aurelia, more battlestars jumping into the system around the clock. The orbit of Aurelia III was almost unrecognisable now; hundreds upon hundreds of weapons satellites and small orbital supply depots crowded around the planet in a shell of steel.

Aurelia was now also home to the prototype HEL-105 laser satellites; ridiculously expensive to construct and much larger than a rail-gun satellite due to the need for larger reactors to power the energy intensive weapons, the two dozen satellites there were the culmination of decades of belated research and development before the war and significantly more frenzied and better funded research since the beginning of it. Their actual existence was top-secret; or it would be until the first time the fired on a hostile target at Aurelia.

The development team had assured the Admiralty that although power-hungry, the weapons had shown great promise in testing, with an observed firing rate of one pulse every twelve seconds and each individual pulse being accurate enough to target Viper sized objects and powerful enough to cripple a strikestar in one good hit.

At least, older model strikestars. The latest Colonial warships rolling out of the slipways had been designed with the latest ablative armour in mind; it didn't do much to slow down a plasma torpedo, of course, but it had drastically reduced the number of ships crippled or destroyed by pulse lasers in the few battles in which such ships had been deployed.

At the insistence of the scientific community, most of the Admiralty and the president himself, all new ships were being fitted with more automated systems to reduce the number of lives at risk on each ship while the older ones were being upgraded with better networked systems. Depending on how well the laser satellites performed, it was likely that a new class of ship armed with them would be designed.

All destroyed or crippled ships that could be recovered were taken back to the nearest Colonial shipyard to be recycled. Aurelia III itself was being turned into a fortress. In addition to the fleets stationed there and the hundreds of satellites, there were hundreds of surface-to-orbit nuclear missile silos being constructed on the planet's surface at strategic locations and a small mobile shipyard had jumped in and was busily churning out Vipers and Raptors to recoup the losses taken in the last battle.

The captured Covenant ship was being thoroughly scoured by hundreds of people; engineers, physicists, technicians, you name it, all trying to work out the onboard systems. The alien FTL drive had been figured out so quickly only because of captured alien prisoners - prisoners that were now being interrogated with great enthusiasm.

It would be years before any significant gains could be made from the alien ship's technology, he'd been told, but in the meantime the Thirteenth Tribe would be taking up some of the slack.

He'd reviewed the photographs and videos sent via Raptor courier from 'Harvest'. The planet's defences made Picon look like a backwater outpost, even when not taking into account the large fleet patrolling the system. And the Thirteenth wanted them to believe Harvest was a relatively unimportant world. What a joke; it had to be close to Earth and in some way extremely important to warrant those defences.

He gave a huff, leaned back in his chair and stared at the large photograph next to the door of the half-finished Ares-class Warstar; soon to be the largest, most advanced and most powerful warship ever crafted by human hands, it would be his new flagship upon completion.

It looked like some kind of marine predator; sleek, deadly with a pointed head dotted with missile tubes and heavy rail-guns. He could hardly wait the four months until It was ready to go. He'd show the Covenant and the Thirteenth who the real power in this galaxy was then.

**UNSCDFS _Shapeshifter_**

**Flag Bridge**

**2 hours from Aurelia**

Admiral Holland narrowed her eyes at the charts before her, staring at a small moon in orbit of the Aurelia system's fourth world. It was habitable, barely, but the Colonials had not settled it. She'd been assured that she could use this moon as her base of operations in this sector of space. A fabricator escorted by six destroyers was four hours behind her main fleet, carrying all the supplies necessary to seed the moon's orbit with a basic defence grid.

Sixteen hours behind that was a mining and refinery ship, also escorted by six destroyers, which would be used to survey the system and mine and refine any useful ore deposits to resupply the fabricator with.

"Ma'am," an ensign handed her a steaming cup of coffee and Holland thanked her, setting it aside to cool off.

"Captain van Buren," she said, turning around to face the commanding officer of her flagship as he stepped onto the flag bridge. "Please, join me."

"Thank you, ma'am," Christof van Buren smiled and took a seat opposite her. "I've been working on a way to find the Covenant."

"Do tell, Captain," Holland leaned back in her chair, picking up her coffee and blowing on it before taking a sip.

"Well, it could take weeks, even months, to properly scout out the sector using even our fastest ships," he said. "So, I was thinking we'd…request the Colonials assistance in the matter."

"I see," she nodded, taking another sip and gesturing for him to continue.

"Their FTL is much better suited to this kind of thing in comparison to the SFTL drive; we should employ them in a reconnaissance role," van Buren said, stroking an ugly scar that ran from his hairline to his lips as he did so. "They find 'em, we stomp 'em."

Holland frowned, mulling the suggestion over for a short while before finally shaking her head slowly. "These Colonials don't seem the type to sit out a fight, I don't think they'll go for that. If we could work out some kind of joint combat op, then maybe it could be done, but all our admittedly limited Intel on them suggests that they're not only somewhat warlike, but hell bent on getting back at the aliens."

"Sure," van Buren said. "We'd have to work it out with the local Colonial CO at Aurelia, an Admiral…umm…Durant, I believe. We'd have to work out a clear chain of command with them before we can work together in a combat situation and who knows how long that will take? At least my way, we can maybe hit the Covenant sooner, buy some more time while working out a chain of command at the same time."

"Okay," Holland sighed, scrubbing a hand over her face and placing the half empty mug of coffee to the side. "We'll see what we can do about having your idea as a temporary situation until we're ready to work with the Colonials."

Van Buren grinned slightly, nodding his appreciation. "Feels strange, doesn't it ma'am?"

She chuckled a little, shaking her head. "A whole human empire, totally separate from Earth? An alien empire made up of a number of species that wants us all dead? All in the span of a month? What could possibly be strange about that?"

**Aurelia System**

**Orbit of Aurelia III**

**Mark II _Mercury_-class Battlestar refit _Angelus_**

Rear Admiral Martin Durant tossed back the glass of ambrosia, the cool, sweet alcohol burning it's way down his throat to settle in his stomach as he stared forlornly at the photograph on his desk in his private quarters.

The photo was taken on a sunny afternoon on Caprica, at the Colonial Military Officer's Academy. He and his son smiled happily back at him, arms about each other's shoulders. This had been the day Jason Durant had graduated from the Academy; Durant had never been prouder, and it showed on his smiling face in the photo.

He slugged back a now refilled glass, swallowing quickly as he remember the day his son had made Commander and been given command of his first battlestar; another proud moment.

His personal phone rang, startling him out of his reverie and bringing harsh reality flooding back into him; his only son was dead, and Martin Durant would never see him again. He sighed and picked up the phone.

"This is the Admiral."

"Sir," Lieutenant Batovich, the man that currently held the con while the Admiral was in his quarters. "We've picked up massive radiation spikes consistent with Covenant FTL drives."

"Probably the ships from the Thirteenth," Durant said. "They're a little early though. Set Condition Two throughout the fleet, just in case."

"Yes sir," Batovich said as Durant hung up the phone and sighed. He put his jacket on and prepared to leave his quarters and head to the CIC; best to be up there and looking his best when he greeted his counterpart in the other fleet.

He exited his quarters, nodded to the Marine that had been standing outside in return to his salute and turned left, making swift progress through the twists and turns of the corridors.

He took a few deep breaths of the cool, recycled air, trying to work the alcohol through his system faster and knowing that it was in vain. Still, it made him feel better.

"Sir," a young crewman, fresh from the academy from the look of him, smiled and saluted, prompting Durant to return the gesture, mumble a brief greeting and continue on his way, observing the quiet, coordinated hustle and bustle of his flagship with approval.

He was less than ten metres from the reinforced glass doors to the CIC when the alarms started blaring; he charged the rest of the way, the doors opening for him, and turned to Batovich.

"What the hell is going on?"

"Covenant ships!" Batovich replied, looking wide eyed at the DRADIS display. "A lot of them."

"Lieutenant, situation report, now!" Durant barked at the younger man, snapping him out of his lapse of professionalism.

"Sir," Batovich said, turning to face Durant. "We've got forty-plus hostile ships forming up to attack us approximately two hundred and fifty-five thousand kilometres away. Heavy hitters are six cruisers, two battle cruisers and an assault carrier, all surrounded by a shell of destroyers and frigates."

Durant nodded curtly. "Time until they engage?"

"Estimate no more than seven minutes, sir," Batovich answered. "Looks like they're taking their time getting organised."

"Let's use that to our advantage," Durant smiled. "BSG-17 and BSG-91 are to prepare for attack pattern Foxtrot-Tango-Lima-Charlie-Juliet."

"Sir, we've never tried that in combat before."

"Well, now's our chance," Durant replied. The attack pattern was one he'd come up with himself as a way to quickly enter combat with the enemy, giving them an element of surprise and hopefully an edge.

Faster-Than-Light-Combat-Jump; the idea was to make a micro jump to get within range of the enemy ships without having to worry about taking long range fire. It wasn't perfect, of course, but it would hopefully give them an edge.

"Have them make sure to spin up their FTL drives as soon as they finish the jump," he continued. "They are to inflict as much damage as possible, then jump out as soon as they are able. Once they've jumped out, BSG-21 and BSG-44 will perform the same manoeuvre; we've got to wear them down before they reach our lines or we're through."

"Understood, sir, orders away," Batovich confirmed. Durant grimaced slightly as more and more contacts appeared on the DRADIS display, another two dozen or so frigates and destroyers and hundreds of fighter contacts.

Sixty Colonial contacts disappeared from the display, reappearing a moment later behind the Covenant fleet. Two seconds later a Covenant frigate contact disappeared under a hail of missiles and rail-gun rounds.

Another second after that and a strikestar was wiped out, followed immediately by another alien frigate and a squadron of hostile fighters. It all felt very detached to him, hundreds of thousands of kilometres away and watching the deaths of thousands of people represented as tiny flashing blips on a DRADIS screen; it didn't feel like it was really happening.

But it was and out there, in the fight, people just like his son were sacrificing themselves to stop the great enemy, the destroyer of worlds. Before this battle was over, maybe even Admiral Martin Durant himself would be forced to make that sacrifice.

**UNSCDFS _King Of Fools_**

**Demetrius-class destoyer**

**Slip-space to real-space transition**

The sleek, angular lines of the top-of-the-line, semi-autonomous destroyer seemed to stretch and compress all at once as it tore itself free from the slip-stream to find itself almost face-to-face with the still burning husk of a Colonial battlestar.

The ships helmsman reacted quickly, sending the destroyer sailing underneath the slowly spinning wreckage as weapon systems and EM shield generators activated.

"Send a message back to the fleet, hostile forces encountered!" Captain Salazar Cobretti ordered as dozens of contacts appeared all over the sensor displays. They were fully six minutes ahead of the main fleet and on their own until they arrived.

Alien fighters broke away from a distant dogfight that they'd been dominating to engage the _King_; the human destroyer fired a salvo of AFM-090 Tormenter missiles in response, some of which were shot down, others detonating harmlessly against the enemy shields and others still knocking said shields offline and cracking fighters open.

Auto-cannons opened up as the range closed and the _King_s single squadron of interceptors launched to prepare for defensive actions. Seraphs dived in towards the manoeuvring destroyer as streams of high explosive tracer rounds glowed against the endless backdrop of space, tracking the little ships with computer controlled precision.

Only one Seraph managed to get close enough to fire off an anti-ship torpedo; significantly weaker than the kind that larger ships fired, it dissipated harmlessly against the EM shield.

"Full reverse thrust, prep MAC rounds and cold-start the missile pods," Cobretti ordered, trying to keep the anxiety he felt out of his voice as the small bridge crew diligently carried out their instructions as a frigate finished off a Colonial strikestar and set it's sights on them.

The _King_'s bow thrusters fired, manoeuvring thrusters keeping the main gun and bow rail-guns pointed directly at the rapidly approaching frigate while the ships class C combat AI worked out an appropriate firing solution.

"Time on target," Cobretti murmured, trusting in the AI to hear him and know what to do. "MAC round and rail-guns first, then missiles, ram it down their throats."

Far off in the distance, tiny explosions marked where the bulk of the fighting was taking between the outgunned Colonials and the alien invaders. The sensor display in front of Cobretti flashed as a pair of friendly contacts were neutralised in the main engagement.

Pulse laser fire stitched across the _King_'s bow armour as the alien frigate entered into range, sending puffs of semi-molten titanium battle plate out into the void.

"Firing solution acquired, firing at will," the AI reported and a faint shudder ran through the deck as the _King_ began firing all it's anti-ship weapons at once. The MAC round streaked across space at several thousand kilometres per second, followed by rail-gun volleys and lastly over five hundred Mark IX ASM-1191 Archer anti-ship missiles.

The frigates pulse lasers retargeted, going for the missiles just as the MAC round struck, setting the shield ablaze and spinning the frigate off-axis. It was credit to the targeting systems of the vessel that close to eighty percent of the missiles were shot down even as rail-gun rounds flattened against the still glowing shield.

The remaining missiles also struck the shield, sending explosions rippling across the energy barrier before it finally failed and allowed a half-dozen of the potent warheads to strike the hull. Seemingly unfazed by the collapse of it's shield or the damage to it's hull, the frigate continued it's pursuit of the destroyer, pulse lasers re-engaging.

"Hull breach detected, sealing the affected area," the AI droned. "Missile racks reloaded, commencing salvo fire."

Hundreds more missiles followed the dully glowing lines of rail-gun rounds to the frigate as it's hull dented and deformed, tearing open in places from the bombardment. Once more, the vast majority of missiles were shot down before impacting against the newly regenerated shield, causing no further damage and stopping the rail-gun rounds cold in their tracks.

"Hostile ship will be in range of plasma weapons in two-zero seconds," the AI said. "Main gun capacitor recharged, firing."

Another round escaped the ship, slamming into the renewed shield and once again knocking the alien ship off course. Lasers strobed back in return, tearing another rent in the destroyers armour.

"Hull breach detected, sealing affected area," the AI reported again. "Warning: critical systems failure in capacitor conduit seven, redirecting to backup conduit seven-A. Missile racks reloaded, commencing salvo fire."

Again, missiles streaked away from the _King Of Fools_, and again most were shot down, but the frigates shield failed again and allowed more missiles to detonate on the hull.

"Concentrate rail-gun fire on those hull breaches," Cobretti demanded, watching in satisfaction as the rail-guns retargeted and hammered the wounds in the frigates side as a plasma torpedo streaked away from the besieged ship.

"Commencing evasive manoeuvres, launching counter-measures," the AI said calmly. "Main gun capacitor recharged, firing."

Another MAC round streaked away from the _King _just as it began to manoeuvre away from the torpedo tracking it, punching into the unshielded hide of the frigate and splintering, obliterating a fifth of the ships mass in a single strike and effectively mission-killing it.

Anti-torpedo Disruptor missiles detonated all around the torpedo, withering it away by handfuls before it reached the Kings shield, where it lost more of it's mass just prior to grazing the belly of the destroyer, gutting it and sending atmosphere and crew out into space while at the same time destroying several rail-guns and missile pods.

"We won," Cobretti said almost in disbelief as the AI vented atmosphere to kill the remains of the torpedo and sealed off the areas exposed to vacuum and the handful of officers on the bridge congratulated each other.

"Warning," the AI said. "Hostile ship moving on intercept course with us, classification: destroyer. In our current condition, chances of defeating the hostile destroyer are approximately 4.397 per cent."

"Fantastic," the helmsman said dryly. "We can't jump out yet, sir, the capacitors are still charging. By the time we're able to jump, we'll be dead."

"Understood, Lieutenant," Cobretti said. "Send a hail to our friends out there, see if they're in a position to help us out."

The alien destroyer cruised into range of it's pulse lasers as missiles streaked away from the _King_; the lasers completely ignored the missiles concentrated entirely on the _King_. A number of small hull breaches appeared all over the destroyer as the missiles detonated on the hostile ships shield to no apparent effect.

"New contact," the AI reported suddenly. "Designate: _Mercury_-class battlestar. Friendly ship is engaging hostile destroyer."

"Heard you could use a hand," the anonymous captain of the larger ship said over the radio a moment later.

The battlestar had made a micro-jump, appearing behind and above the alien ship and immediately letting loose with it's bow guns as the King fired another MAC round. The Covenant ship fired a plasma torpedo at the battlestar but kept the pressure on the _King Of Fools _with it's lasers, ripping open the armour and licking wounds into the UNSC ship.

The battlestar jumped again just before the torpedo struck, reappearing instantly a couple thousand kilometres from the _King _and realigning itself to continue firing on the Covenant destroyer.

"Slip-space rupture detected," the AI reported. "New contact, designate: _Marathon_-class cruiser."

The human cruiser ripped itself free of slip-space and immediately fired a MAC round; the much more powerful main gun of the cruiser knocked the destroyers shield flat and tore it in half in a single blow as more and more UNSC ships entered the Aurelia system and began to form up to attack the Covenant fleet making steady progress towards the Colonial fortress world.

"This is Admiral Judith Holland, UNSC, to all friendly forces in the Aurelia system," an all-points bulletin stretched out to reach every ship, Earth-built or Colonial as the _Shapeshifter _made it's transition. "Let's kick these aliens out of our system."


	18. A Note from the Author

Since I've had a few people PM me about this story, I've decided that it would be more...economical to let everyone know what's up here. I lost my job when the company I worked for more or less went bankrupt. I have a new job now that requires me to work 12 hour days seven days a week. However, just this morning I managed to injure my knee pretty badly (nearly dislocated it and have some micro-fractures in the kneecap) at work and as such have to take some time off. So, between my agonising pain and my painkiller-induced coma's, I should be able to find more time to devote to this while I recover. In the mean time, here's a short preview from the planned Part 2 of the series...

**June 17****th****, 2528**

**Colony-world Numeria, town of Azad (Population 11,788)**

**Blundell residence**

**2703 Hours Local Time**

Jerome Archibald Blundell III, aged eleven, stared up the night sky from his backyard in wonder as the stars twinkled brightly. Numeria's single tiny moon was nowhere to be seen on this hemisphere and, as was the custom in Azad, the town lights had been dimmed to allow the numerous amateur astronomers that called the town home an unobstructed view.

Jerome, like his father and his father before him, was fascinated with space. His parents had taken him to Central Hub in geosynchronous orbit above the capital, Esther, for his birthday two months ago and his grandfather had purchased him a six thousand credit telescope, which was sitting on it's tripod mount a few feet away from him. Behind him, his mother dozed in a lounge chair under the porch.

Rubbing his hands gently together to warm them against the slight chill in the air, Jerome put his eye carefully up to the eyepiece on the telescope, gently panning it until it settled on one the massive orbital defence platforms. He adjusted the zoom function carefully, and the platform grew larger in the lens. He could make out a few small ships moving around the platform; freighters, probably.

_It must be wonderful_, he thought wistfully to himself. _To get to live on one of those things, with only a thin plate of clear-steel between you and space._

He panned the telescope around, looking for nothing in particular, before settling momentarily on the tiny little dot that was the nearest planet to Numeria, Nu III, a gas giant that had recently had helium extractors put in place. Jerome adjusted the zoom to max and the dot leapt forward until it looked to be about the size of a tennis ball. He couldn't make out much beyond the swirling storms of colour that raged across the massive alien world.

He stared at the planet with a small smile playing across his lips for a few moments before the image disappeared and he reared his head back from the eyepiece as brilliant light flooded his view. He blinked spots out of his eye and tilted his head up quizzically, trying and find the source of light.

Another bright flash of light appeared in orbit, bright as a star but only living for a moment and then another and another. After a short while, something started to fall into the atmosphere, lighting fiery trails across the sky, reminding Jerome of the meteor shower he'd watched with his father early last year.

Another flash, this one even bigger and brighter lit up the sky and bathed Numeria in a sun-like glow for a brief duration as the young boy watched, mouth agape.

"Mum!," he shouted, still looking up at the light-show. "Mum! Mum, look!"

"What is it?," he heard his mother stirring from her slumber behind him, stifling a yawn as she spoke. "Did you spot another warship?"

"No, mum! Look!," he said, turning to face her finally and flinging his hand out to point up at the sky just as another flash lit up the landscape behind him. Fully awake now, his mother extricated herself from the chair and came to stand beside Jerome, her eyes wide and jaw slack as yet more falling debris burned through the sky.

A beam of light shot down from the sky, just as bright as any of the flashes but sustained, the point of it disappearing somewhere over the horizon. Jerome was a bright young lad and figured that the point connected with Esther; the direction was right and the distance appeared to be too.

Before the beam had faded away another and another pierced down, spearing the planet at different points. The house rattled behind him and dozens of dark shapes shot through the sky maybe a half-kilometre overhead, followed a few moments later by deafeningly loud sonic booms as the drone fighters flew away as quickly as they'd arrived.

A loud, keening siren started blaring all across the town and the lights brightened noticeably. People woke up and lights flickered on in hundreds of homes all around Jerome as he and his mother kept on watching the sky, his mother clutching him firmly to her from behind.

Young Jerome had seen news broadcasts, simulations, even entertainment movies that had shown something like this, but it had never been so real before. He was no fool, he knew exactly what was happening, even if his mind couldn't fathom it properly. This was an attack; an invasion. Numeria was far from the frontlines and was thus only sparsely defended. No one had seen this coming. The Covenant were here, now, and they'd brought the war with them.


	19. Threesome

**Aurelia System**

**Joint UNSC/Colonial fleet engaging Covenant forces**

**Flight Lieutenant Soo-Kim Yu's Rapier Interceptor**

Space all around Soo-Kim Yu's fighter was far brighter than it should have been; explosions, tracer rounds, the glow of massive engines all dimmed the backdrop of stars. He ducked his fighter underneath the crumbling remains of a Marathon-class cruiser, dodging around chunks of desiccated hull weighing thousands of times more than his own craft as the alien fighter behind him gave chase.

Yu sent his interceptor into a spin that crushed him into his G-absorbent seat, narrowly avoiding an unspent anti-ship missile then swooping up into the innards of the ruined cruiser, plasma bolts chasing after him before he shot out the armoured side through a forty metre hole, the edges of which were still glowing.

A jet of molten titanium exploded from the dying ship as it was struck by pulse lasers from a distant hostile destroyer and the flickering external lights on the ship finally died completely. Yu punched the throttle to full before cutting it out and hitting the nose thrusters, spinning the Rapier around so that he was now facing the pursuing fighter whilst maintaining his momentum.

Plasma bolts crossed paths with magnetically-impelled 50mm tracers briefly, several of them striking the ablative armour of the Rapier while the explosive auto-cannon rounds flattened against the Seraph's shield, causing it to flicker and flare madly before finally dissipating and allowing the comparatively fragile craft it protected to be split open under the deluge.

Yu flicked the fighter around again and moved to rendezvous with what was left of his squadron, his attention drawn to the flashes of light in the distance. A small sun was born as a UNSC destroyer died from a plasma torpedo strike, fusion trails darting away from the explosion marking the destroyers final salvo of missiles.

MAC rounds larger than his fighter crossed thousands of kilometres in the blink of an eye, slamming into Covenant warships with devastating results as pulse lasers raked back and forth across Third Fleet's frontline units. Yu's brief but numerous life-and-death struggles with the alien fighters seemed totally meaningless as he watched hundreds or even thousands of lives get snuffed out every few seconds.

The cruiser he'd used as cover just moments ago slowly spun through space, moving farther and farther away from the fighting, it's eighteen-hundred crew already dead or dying.

"Yu," his earpiece crackled on the squadron frequency. "Form up now, we've got a flight of bombers to escort"."

"Understood, returning to formation," he replied promptly, sparing one last look for the cruiser before zeroing in on the rest of his squadron, guided by the Rapier's integrated heads-up display.

Tormentor anti-fighter missiles streaked away from a destroyer, burning towards a flock of alien fighters that were harassing a wounded carrier as the besieged ship's auto-cannons and defensive squadrons fought them off. A ball shaped explosion of pure white light signalled the detonation of a fusion bomb so far away that it was merely a pinprick of light, shining brighter than the stars around it.

Yu's onboard radiation detection suite lit up suddenly and tiny slip-space ruptures formed in space a few hundred kilometres away, spewing more fighters.

"This is Stallion-Six," Yu announced on the squadron frequency "Hostile fighters slipping in, request permission to engage."

"Denied, Six," his leader replied. "Continue with current objective, let Harrier squadron deal with those fighters."

"Understood, Six out," Yu replied, eyeing off the fighters on his display before opening the throttle to full and proceeding with the rendezvous.

OOOOO

**Covenant Assault Carrier **_**Arbiter's Might**_

**Flagship of Covenant Forces in human-held system**

Elnaa 'Salumnee sneered at the three dimensional holographic display as one of his cruisers was overcome and destroyed by fusion warheads. The arrival of the 'others' had come as a complete surprise and his forces were now outnumbered and essentially surrounded.

He had been ordered to take and hold the orbit of the third planet as quickly as possible and had been utterly confident that it would be done swiftly; now, he was certain he could do it, but fearful that it would not be quick enough for the Hierarch that resided in it's personal chambers on the _Might_.

"Order our frigate screen to sweep out and around the edges of the enemy fleet," 'Salumnee said. "Have them split into groups of no more than three and to harass the weaker enemy ships, but not to risk full engagement; we must preserve our numbers as best as possible."

The small crew went about their tasks with due diligence, not bothering to waste time acknowledging the commander's orders, which was how he liked it.

The holographic display zoomed in suddenly, enlarging a view of a Covenant cruiser exchanging fire with it's human counterpart; the blocky human ship took a trio of torpedoes to the portside armour barely fazed and responded with nearly a thousand missiles and countless metal projectiles.

Before seeing the conclusion of that fight, the hologram zoomed out and started tracking a large force of human small-craft bearing down on a group of Covenant destroyers. Pulse laser fire flickered away from the destroyers and human fighters died as the released large missiles from internal bays. The destroyers ignored the missiles, thinking they were simply fighter-launched versions of the missiles these humans so favoured.

One of them disappeared behind blinding white light as the fusion warheads detonated against the shield, then another was struck. Both ships flickered on the tactical overlay before their designations went dark, indicating that they were no longer combat effective.

"All escorts are to ignore ship-launched missiles for now and concentrate on human fighters," 'Salumnee ordered, mandibles twitching in annoyance. "Have the cruiser's form into a wedge and drive right down the middle of the fleet, separate their larger ships from their escorts and we can pick them apart at our leisure."

He studied the human formation a moment more, watching as the blocky ships' powerful spinal weapons fired in unison, targeting frigates and destroyers. A couple of them were destroyed outright, a number more were crippled, still in the fight but either incapable of moving under their own power or having permanently lost shields or weapons systems.

'Salumnee was determined to not be taken by surprise again; it had already happened three times now, first with the tactical use of FTL drives to avoid plasma torpedoes, second with arrival of the other humans and third with the apparently quite effective bombers.

"Have our fighters intensify their harassment of the enemy, concentrating on the weaker ships," 'Salumnee said, pacing slowly around the 3-D holographic representation and zooming in on points of interest from time to time.

An icon for a wounded destroyer blinked several times as it was blanketed with missiles, before fading away to be replaced with a simple red circle, marking the ship as destroyed in action.

Frigates surged away from the main fleet in a cloud before splitting into groups of three or four and moving in different directions to envelope the human fleet on all sides and allowing them to attack from all angles.

The assault carrier rolled over to present its bow to a distant human cruiser and the dual energy projectors mounted there fired in unison, sweeping over the cruiser and cutting it neatly into thirds.

Glowing tungsten rounds speared back at the Covenant fleet in response from a dozen different ships; the carrier itself was far enough away to dodge the rounds with relative ease, but some of the escorts were not so lucky. A pair of frigates were knocked out of the fight, their shields popping like bubbles under a barrage of MAC rounds and missiles and their hulls rupturing.

The Colonials backed off as the UNSC and Covenant fleets squared off, taking the arrival of their distant cousins as a chance for a brief reprieve. Most ships jumped away, reappearing back in orbit of Aurelia and immediately manoeuvring to take on supplies or try to effect rudimentary repairs. 'Salumnee let them go; they were no threat right now and he'd have plenty of time to wipe them out once he was done with these other meddlers.

OOOOO

**Mark II Mercury-class Battlestar Refit **_**Angelus**_

**CIC **

Admiral Durant glared at the DRADIS displays overhead as the aliens shifted their priorities, all-but ignoring his battered, retreating forces and forming up to attack the Thirteenth Tribe fleet that had made such a dramatic entrance to the system.

He'd had to order the DRADIS operators to filter out missile contacts because the system was overloading with the sheer number the Thirteenth Tribe ships were throwing around out there; while the effects were not exactly devastating, they were certainly noticeable. His only worry was for the endurance of their allies ships. If they were firing so many missiles so fast, they were going to run out of munitions soon enough.

"How many capital ships are available to us?" Durant said, eyes never leaving the display as contacts blinked and disappeared, both friendly and hostile, with alarming regularity.

"Seventeen battlestars, sir," someone, he wasn't sure who, answered. "Nine _Valkyrie_-class, five _Mercury_-class and three _Columbia_-class."

Durant bit the inside of his cheek as he watched the two opposing fleets close in on each other, exchanging fire all the way.

"Form them into a mongrel battle group," he finally ordered. "Then order them to make a tactical jump straight into the middle of the Covenant fleet; as soon as they complete the jump, they are authorised to launch their full nuclear compliment."

The young lieutenant that had answered the admiral swallowed hard, his brow creasing. Jumping in so close to the enemy ships ran certain risks, not least of which was the risk of jumping _into _another vessel. Still, from the look on Durant's face, the young man assumed that he knew all this and wanted to go ahead with it anyway.

"Once that's done, all remaining battle-worthy ships are to jump in to support the Thirteenth fleet," Durant continued, then turned his gaze to his 2IC. "We're jumping in with that mongrel group; you're hereby authorised to expend our full nuclear compliment, Commander."

"Yes, sir," the commander replied, pulling a key that hung from a chain around his neck out from under his shirt, the admiral following suit. Since the start of the war, security measures such as lengthy nuclear authorisation codes had been made obsolete and to access their most powerful weapons, all a commander had to do was issue the order and place and turn the key in it's receptacle at the same time as their 2IC.

Durant tapped a button on the tactical map table in front of him, revealing a small panel set into the side of the bulky table. He held up his key at the same time as his 2IC, gave a small nod, and the two men both inserted and turned their keys at the same time, prompting a red button to flash briefly before Durant pushed it.

"Nuclear release authorised," a digitized feminine voice announced quietly.

"Are we ready to jump?" Durant asked.

"All ships report ready to go, sir, awaiting you order."

Durant fiddled with the battered and worn wedding band on his hand, a nervous gesture that he'd had ever since his wife had passed away to cancer seven years ago. He thought of her and of his son; his only family, both snatched away from him, one by an insidious disease, the other by an equally insidious alien empire. He was ready.

"All ships have a go."

OOOOO

**UNSCDFS Halcyon-class cruiser refit **_**Shapeshifter**_

**Flag Bridge**

The ship heaved as it's main guns spoke, three six hundred ton tungsten rounds shattering the shield of a Covenant cruiser before a twelve hundred ton round from a _Marathon_-class cruiser gutted the silver-purple ship.

Admiral Holland wasn't paying attention to that, though, she was keeping an eye on the bigger picture, trusting in Captain van Buren to command his ship. Normally, the flagship wouldn't be taking such an active role in the fighting, but they needed every ship in this fight.

She shook her head as the Covenant light ships split from the main force, breaking up into smaller groups and moving to harass her destroyer screen. A Covenant frigate was an even match for a UNSC destroyer and if left to go about their business, these small groups could cripple her fleets capacity to fight.

"Clever bastard," she muttered, feeling some respect for the opposing forces commander. "Cruisers _Carnival of Rust_ and _Holier Than Thou _are to split off and form a roaming support squadron with Destroyer Group Three. They are to engage any hostile frigate Wolf Packs they can, destroy them if they are able, otherwise simply driving them off should be sufficient."

Her orders were relayed by her AI assistant to the ships in question and almost immediately, two _Marathon_-class cruisers and half a dozen destroyers split into two groups of four ships and began seeking out the Covenant frigate packs.

Holland winced as a carrier symbol flashed and faded away on the tac-display as twin beams of energy slashed across it's armoured hull and cut it in half. The Covenant had taken them by surprise with that little trick; a weapon with ludicrously long range and which almost totally ignored even the thickest armour. Fortunately, only a couple of ships seemed to be equipped with these powerful weapons and they appeared to have a long recharge time.

Holland spared a glance for the cluster of friendly contacts closer to the planet, briefly wondering what her Colonial counterpart was up to as she noted a number of capital ships clustering together away from the main bulk of the fleet. The Colonial contacts winked off her display suddenly and for a moment she thought that their erstwhile allies had abandoned the fight.

The moment passed, however, when the Colonial capital ships began appearing in amongst the Covenant formation. By a stroke of astronomically bad luck, one unfortunate battlestar jumped into the trajectory of a cruiser's MAC round and was ripped in half by the friendly fire, the round continuing merrily on it's way and crippling a Covenant destroyer.

Massive radiation spikes lit up the displays as the Colonials launched their nuclear ordinance with impunity. Escort ships had their shields overwhelmed quickly by the fission weapons and the Colonial ships pounced on these weakened ships, hitting them with everything from point defence auto-cannons to bow artillery cannons, tearing them to pieces in no time flat.

The effects of this surprise attack were less drastic for the larger alien ships, though, and in just a few moments three battlestars were burned away by plasma torpedoes from a pair of cruisers. The surprise attack also had another, unintended, side affect; the Colonials had jumped in so close to their alien counterparts that the UNSC risked killing their allies with their own heavy ordinance, namely their fusion missiles.

"Adopt offensive formation Easy Mike," Holland ordered, biting her lip in frustration as she cursed herself for not ordering it sooner. The formation required her fleet to split up, some going "up", some going "down" and the rest continuing straight at the enemy fleet, allowing her forces to effectively envelope her opponent's and rain fire on them from all angles.

The reason she'd put it off so long was the enemy Wolf Packs; splitting her destroyers away from the larger forms of her cruisers would leave them more vulnerable to roaming attackers.

"Get the Colonial CO on the horn," Holland said , wincing as another battlestar lost a goodly portion of it's mass to a torpedo strike and drifted along under nothing but momentum away from the fighting.

"Connection established, Admiral," the Group AI informed her. "You may speak when you wish."

"This is Admiral Holland to Admiral Durant," she said into her ear-piece. The response was immediate but garbled and unintelligible.

"Apologies, Admiral," the AI said. "A simple run-time error, translating now."

That was a worry for Holland; the Group AI was a Class A Smart AI, one that had been with her aboard the _Shapeshifter_ ever since she'd taken the cruiser as her flagship and one of the rare few that never chose a name for itself. The AI itself was in it's teens by now, and few ever lived past their sixteenth 'birthday', even with hardware upgrades. Even a simple error like forgetting to run a translation program in real-time could be an early warning sign of rampancy or worse.

"This is Durant, I'm a little busy right now, so make it quick," the decidedly gruff voice of her Colonial counterpart came back to her, interrupting her thoughts.

"Admiral," Holland said, a little frostily. "You need to move your ships out of the line of fire, I'm about to hit these aliens with everything in my arsenal and I don't want friendlies caught in the way."

The link was quiet for a moment before Durant's voice, sounding somewhat deflated, returned. "Understood, we weren't going to be able to keep this up much longer anyway. Preparing to disengage."

As if to emphasise Durant's point, a _Mercury_-class battlestar was torn asunder by a trio of plasma torpedoes, the remains savaged by pulse lasers seconds before the first Colonial warship blinked away into FTL.

As the battlestars jumped back into orbit, the assault carrier at the centre of the Covenant fleet fired it's twin beam weapons again, targeting the _Shapeshifter _itself. The aging cruiser rumbled in protest as she was struck amidships and the deck heaved beneath Holland, lurching her forward in her seat.

A couple of her officers had been out of their seats and therefore unrestrained; these few stumbled and fell, one landing hard against the corner of the TAC-display, tearing open a great wound on her head and sending blood gushing across the holographic emitters, disrupting the hologram of the assorted fleets.

"Alert, severe superstructure damage detected," the Group AI spoke over the speakers. "Hull breaches detected in decks 37B through 38C. Missile pods D1 though E9 offline. Rail-guns 37, 38, 40 and 44 offline. Sea-whiz systems 25 though 31, 33-37 and 39 offline. Secondary shield emitter three offline."

The holographic display flickered as a crew member tried to clean the blood off of the emitters, changing to show a wireframe image of the cruiser, affected areas flashing red to show heavy damage.

Holland winced as she shifted in her seat, her ribs bruised from being slammed against her restraints. "Are all allied ships out of the Covenant formation?"

"Affirmative."

"Execute manoeuvre Hailstorm."

"Executing."

OOOOO

**Covenant Assault Carrier **_**Arbiter's Might**_

**Flagship of Covenant Forces in human-held system**

'Salumnee snarled quietly to himself as the lesser humans made a surprise attack with that damnable FTL system, crippling a number of escorts with massed nuclear strikes and leaving the larger ships vulnerable. The attack lasted only a few moments before the first Colonial ship was burned away, continuing mere moments more before they began to jump back to the relative safety of orbit of their world.

As they left the fight behind to lick their wounds, the _Might's _gunnery crews identified a primary threat among the human fleet and designated it for removal via energy projector. The great carrier fired it's twin projectors at the formidable cruiser-sized ship, scoring a direct hit almost dead centre of the port-side.

The projector's firing cycle ended, leaving the ship badly damaged but seemingly still functional. 'Salumnee's mandibles twitched in surprise and he bowed his head ever-so-slightly in respect for the blocky human ship.

The human ships suddenly ceased their long-range duel with his escorts, ceasing fire altogether, in fact, and 'Salumnee narrowed his eyes in confusion. What were they doing? They were easy targets now.

The ships were spreading out away from each other, too, no longer mutually supporting each other with short ranged point defences as their formation took the shape of a massive semi-sphere. The Fleet Masters eyes widened as realisation dawned on him, and he spun about to shout orders to his underlings. Too late.

The display lit up with thousands upon thousands of new contacts as the human ships launched all their available ordinance at once in a massive Alpha Strike. The Covenant lines came alive with laser fire, their point defence completely overwhelmed by the onslaught and soon enough shields began flashing and strobing as they took hit after hit.

The deadly rain of missiles continued as the human ships reloaded their magazines and fired again, the hail this time joined by multi-ton magnetically accelerated slugs and smaller slivers of titanium from rail-guns. Titanic flashes lit space around the besieged Covenant fleet as fusion missiles, hidden among their less powerful brethren, began detonating.

The Covenant's response was furious but uncoordinated; plasma boiled through space as 'Salumnee's fleet struggled to fight back, burning away heretic ships where they could or even being used as make-shift point defence weapons, the torpedoes consuming dozens of missiles at a time.

More slugs hammered his fleet from all angles as friendly ships blinked away, listed as destroyed or crippled in action. The flagships own shields were being pounded like a drum, despite the best efforts of it's escorting frigates to shoot down the inbound ordinance. One of his cruisers broke formation and placed itself between the flagship and some of the hostile fire, the ships shields absorbing hit after hit, aglow a fiery orange-red as they verged on failure, a haunting silver halo surrounding the ship as the shields tried to reradiate the energy from the missiles and slugs back into space.

A pair of fusion detonations wiped the cruiser from the display as 'Salumnee did the only thing he could when faced with such a situation.

"Order the retreat, all ships capable of entering the slip-stream are to do so immediately," the Fleet Master growled, shame flushing his body with heat. "Those that cannot follow are to cover the retreat and then initiate their self-destruct sequences."

"It is done, Fleet Master," an Unngoy underling said a moment later as the great ship trembled from a slug hit and it's shields dipped below twenty percent, the underling's voice quivering in both fear and relief.

'Salumnee snapped his mandibles in rage, prompting the underling to yelp in fright and scurry away. He would suffer for this, he knew. The Covenant High Council tended not to look kindly on retreat from battle, but his duty demanded it. He had to protect the hierarch on board and he had to keep as many ships running as possible.

Though they didn't like to admit it, the Covenant's local fleet was not inexhaustible and the majority of their forces were on the other side of the spiral arm or escorting High Charity.

"Retarget the projectors," he snarled, an evil glint in his eye. "Destroy the enemy flagship before we leave."

OOOOO

**Mark II Mercury-class Battlestar Refit **_**Angelus**_

**CIC **

Durant's mouth was a thin line on his grim face as he studied the DRADIS display. The Thirteenth fleet had decimated the Covenant ranks in a massive coordinated strike and the aliens were retreating. It had to sting, losing three times in a row in this very system.

_Now they know how it feels_, he thought, _to lose again and again._

He should be happy, he knew, but there was something, a feeling, he just couldn't shake. The loss of life in this one battle was atrocious, but he felt that it was not quite over yet.

A moment later, he was proven right. As the alien ships slipped away into that other realm they used for FTL travel, the flagship fired it's main weapon again and the Thirteenth flagship was torn open as the twin beams played across it's hull. Power failed throughout the cruiser and it's engines died, leaving it to move under nothing but it's own momentum.

The alien flagship slipped away, apparently satisfied that it had decapitated the Thirteenth's forces and Durant wiped the sweat from his brow and heaved a sigh. Nothing was ever easy.

"New contact!" his DRADIS operator shouted suddenly over the general chaos of the CIC. "Single Covenant ship, battle cruiser class! Distance ten thousand and closing fast!"

"All ships, engage with everything we have left," Durant ordered, cursing to himself. The battle cruiser swept aside a trio of strikestars that got in it's way with no apparent effort, then burned through a _Valkyrie_ with a pair of plasma torpedoes, not even bothering to slow down as rail-gun slugs began striking it's shielded hide. Missiles and fighters were shot down with an almost contemptuous ease as the ship powered on.

It fired it's beam weapons, ignoring the battlestars moving to engage it and targeting the planet instead, burning away a Colonial military complex that was being used to house spare munitions and as a shore leave location. Five thousand men and women died in less than a second.

The _Angelus_, wounded from battle shuddered uncharacteristically violently as it's bow guns spoke in retaliation. The battle cruiser ignored it and the other battlestars as they fired everything at it, letting it's shields take the hits unhindered.

A new weapon fired at the planet's surface, originating from underneath the bow, a thick orange-red beam of energy swept across the world, scouring the small, abandoned city that was being used as ground-side barracks by the fleet and leaving behind molten craters.

The battle cruiser opened a slip-space rupture, apparently content with the destruction it had caused, but just before it entered the rupture, it's shield collapsed and it's hull came under fire from the _Angelus_ and another _Mercury_-class battlestar as the rest of the battered Colonial capital ships finally entered effective range and added their own firepower.

The rupture flickered and closed as the ship made it's way through, neatly cutting the front third of the ship off and leaving the remains to be pummelled into a cloud of debris by the furious battlestar commanders.

In his CIC, Durant bit the inside of his cheek so hard that he tasted blood. No matter what, the Covenant always seemed to have the final word.


	20. A Warriors Return

A/N: I had originally planned to upload this as a single massive chapter, but I've decided to instead upload it as a two part (second part is not finished yet). I have decided to enable Anonymous Reviews for the time being, please keep in mind that this is a privilege and it will only take one person abusing it with trolling and/or flaming to have it revoked again, since I have a rather strong distaste for such things.

Some of you may have noticed references to a number of different songs or bands throughout the story so far,if you can point out three or more, you may win yourself an internet. As always, enjoy the update and please leave me some feedback

Edit: A/N 2: Anonymous Reviews has once again been disabled and the review that caused it has been removed. It may have been funny in an odd sense and even drawn a chuckle or two from me, but like I said, I have a rather strong distaste for trolling and flaming.

**OOOOO**

**Harvest, Surface**

**Mount Hieronymus**

**Suspected Forerunner facility, Expeditionary Force One, 12th**** Marines**

"This place is huge," somebody said behind Private Weeks as sixty odd Marines advanced slowly through the utterly silent underground structure. The ceiling was a good hundred metres over head and the equally wide corridor they were in (which, he noted, was completely devoid of any kind of cover) stretched down into the earth at a constant twenty five degree angle for an unknowable distance.

Every five hundred meters, there was a door wide enough to drive a tank through on either side of the corridor. A few fire teams had attempted to effect entry through these doors and fail spectacularly; they were locked up tight and whatever they were made out of seemed to be totally impervious to the explosive charges the Marines carried.

The walls were made of an unknown material that was soft to touch, like warm velvet, but which clanged quietly when someone had tapped it with their field shovel, ringing with the unmistakeable sound of metal on metal. The soft, almost soothing light that illuminated their way seem to emanate from the walls themselves.

Somewhere ahead of them, Weeks could hear the distant rumble of a pair of main battle tanks moving swiftly to secure the bottom of the corridor - if there _was_ a bottom. Behind them, another three or four hundred Marines would be making their way down the shaft, no doubt accompanied by the Hammer IFV's and the Elephant command vehicle that were going to be setting up a forward operating base at the bottom of the enormous shaft.

"Yeah," Weeks muttered, the oppressive silence making him speak quietly as though he didn't want to disturb this ancient place. "Wonder how we missed this?"

"A planet is a big place," another Marine said, also quietly. "The mountains were only really surveyed from orbit, I think, and not many people actually come up here."

"Can the chatter, everyone," a Lieutenant T. Hiroki hissed over the radio, his name appearing in Weeks' HUD beside a small icon that indicated the transmission was going out to his platoon only. "Just concentrate on doing your jobs."

The boom of explosive ordinance and chatter of machine guns erupted from ahead and the radio built into Weeks' helmet came alive with contact reports.

"Hostile infantry, hundred metres front," the voice of one of the tank commanders crackled in his ear. "Approximately forty foot-mobiles; we've got this."

The radio chatter cut out as another detonation reverberated through the cavernous tunnel.

"Sounds like they're kicking ass up there," the Marine that commented on the orbital survey of the mountains said enthusiastically.

"Yeah," Weeks grinned. "Sounds like it."

**OOOOO**

Covenant troops blinked out of existence in clouds of multi-hued blood as the twin Devastator MBTs raked their .30 calibre mini-guns across their lines, pummelling and puncturing purple crates that the enemy was using for cover with depleted uranium slugs.

The mini-guns on these two tanks were operated by a Marine inside the thickly armoured main hull of the tank, using a joystick and a view-screen that was provided visuals by a camera mounted on the gun, protecting the operators from harm. Plasma bolts washed over the lead tank, the thick Titanium-A battle plate glowing a dull red from the heat of the rounds but otherwise unfazed.

Captain Marcela O'Bannon, commander of the tank _Betty Blue, _smirked as the last of the resistance withered away under a hailstorm of fire. The mini-guns quieted, still whirring menacingly as their operators searched for fresh targets.

"Let's move on, shall we?", she said, tapping the driver gently on the shoulder. The man nodded quietly and opened up the throttle, accelerating the nearly hundred tonne beast forward.

They were near the end of the long slope into the earth and could see were the ground levelled off a few hundred metres distant, the corridor seemingly opening up into an even wider area. Alien light vehicles began streaming from the opening and moving up the slope towards the twin tanks, firing rapid-fire plasma weapons.

The tanks stopped moving as plasma splashed harmlessly against their thick armour, allowing the twenty Marines accompanying them on foot to use the hulking mass as cover. The Marines returned fire with rifles and light machine guns, targeting the operators of the small, fast hover-bikes as the mini-guns spoke again, this time joined by the twin 7.62mm machine guns.

Betty's left main gun fired, the round setting fire to the atmosphere as it tore through the air and obliterated one of the bikes. Another fell to her mini-gun, chewed up like a piece of Swiss cheese before detonating in a fiery blue explosion. Another was taken out by Betty's right main gun, and another still by her sister, before the remaining bikes decided that retreat was a good idea.

One the rapidly retreating bikes had it's operator killed by a well placed shot from one of the Marine Designated Marksmen, the bike careening wildly before slamming into a wall with a crunch and a squeal.

"New targets, bottom of the slope, two hostile tanks," Betty's main gun operator, Lieutenant James May, reported. "Engaging."

The twin blue hover tanks made easy targets as the manoeuvred to cover the retreat of their lighter counterparts, one of them holed clean through by the other tank before even firing a shot. The other managed to fire a single large orb of plasma before Betty gave it the same treatment.

"Evasive action, scatter!" O'Bannon ordered through the TAC-COM, prompting the Marines on foot to scatter back up the slope and the two tanks to separate and back-pedal. The orb smashed harmlessly into the ground eight metres in front of Betty, hurling a cloud of steam into the air and not doing much else.

"Man," O'Bannon's counterpart in the other tank, Captain Sikura, spoke over the TAC-COM. "Those are their tanks? Pretty pathetic."

"Yeah," O'Bannon replied with a chuckle. "Lucky for us, not so much for them."

The tanks rolled forward again, rumbling down the slope at a sedate pace. Covenant ground forces appeared at the mouth, taking cover behind their ruined tanks, firing plasma and pink needles at the Marines, using their own tanks as moving cover. The mini-guns came to life again, smashing the enemy infantry with ease and forcing them to keep their heads down.

Large green projectiles surged up to meet the tanks and radiation alarms blared within their hulls. The automated Active Defence Laser System engaged the projectiles, zapping the radioactive fuel rods mid-flight and detonating them early. More and more began soaring up to the tanks, before one finally made it through the ADLS and impacted the hull-down armour of Betty.

The fuel rod detonated against the armour in a burst of intense heat and radiation, boiling away a couple of centimetres of the thick, angled plating and temporarily blinding the driver.

"That's enough of that," O'Bannon muttered, before turning to her gunner. "Reduce muzzle velocity 65% and load HEBB."

"Loading HEBB," the gunner acknowledged as he scaled back the power supplied to the magnetic coils in the tanks main guns, effectively reducing the velocity of the rounds it would be firing and allowing the High Explosive Ball Bearing rounds to be used without cooking off mid-flight due to atmospheric friction.

HEBB shells were packed with high explosive and hundreds of tiny ball bearings each, making them ideal for dealing with infantry. The rounds themselves were designed with variable detonation ranges, allowing gunners to change the amount of time it takes between firing the round and the round releasing it's deadly cargo based on the range to the intended target.

"Fire when ready," O'Bannon ordered as the ADLS shot down another fuel rod and the driver deftly evaded another of the slow moving projectiles.

"Firing," the gunner reported, followed a split second later by two loud thumps in quick succession as the HEBB rounds exploded from Betty's twin barrels, hurtling down range in the blink of an eye before detonating mid-flight and showering the ruined tanks and dozen or so infantry huddled around them with hundreds of ball bearings, shredding the lightly armoured Grunts and two shielded Elites with equal, brutal efficiency.

The chatter of small-arms fire and returning whine of plasma weapons ceased, creating an almost eerie silence in the corridor, broken only by the quiet rumble of the tank engines and the ominous whir of the still spinning mini-gun barrels.

"Captain O'Bannon to EF-1, entry side secure," O'Bannon radioed back to the Marines further up the corridor. "Request you move to hold entry side and provide support as we move through the doorway, how copy?"

"Solid copy, Captain," a masculine voice replied in her earpiece. "We're picking up the pace, ETA ninety seconds. Light elements of the 22nd Armour Division will be approximately one minute behind us, advise you remain where you are until they arrive."

"Understood EF-1, holding here," O'Bannon acknowledged, sighing as the connection was severed. To her crew, she said, "Nice to be getting a little payback, huh?"

Her comment was replied to with grins and nods from the other tankers.

"Return main guns to max velocity and reload penetrators," she said to her gunner, all business now. "I'm willing to bet there are a lot more vehicles on the other side of that entry way."

Further back up the slope, the rear-view cameras tracked the Marines of EF-1 as they broke out into a jog over a kilometre away, moving to catch up with the twin tanks and their own supporting fire teams. Even further behind them, the hi-res cameras could make out the sleek, predatory shapes of M779 Hammer Infantry Fighting Vehicles and the mansion-sized bulk of the Elephant mobile base they were escorting.

Four of the Hammer's surged forward, picking up speed as they raced down-slope towards O'Bannon's rapidly growing little army as they made their preparations to breach the entryway into the presumably much larger chamber beyond.

**OOOOO**

**Harvest, Forerunner Facility**

**Temporary Covenant F.O.B, Central Command Building (Pre-Fab)**

**Great Chamber**

Field Master Solus 'Salasee bit back a snarl of frustration as the Ghosts retreated back into the chamber, chased by human projectiles. He didn't bother holding in his rage as the two Wraiths he sent to cover their retreat were annihilated, followed shortly thereafter by the infantry units sent to support the tanks.

"Field Master, the shield generator is assembled and awaiting activation," an Unggoy underling reported nervously as the much larger alien fiddled with the hilt of his plasma blade.

"Then have it activated," 'Salasee snapped at the little creature, turning and delivering a glare that could melt starship armour. Startled, the Unngoy squeaked in fear, uttered an "at once" and beat a hasty retreat from the command building.

'Salasee had orders to hold this position long enough for the Recovery Team to retrieve a number of sacred artefacts believed to be kept in smaller armoured chambers linked to the Great Chamber by hundred metre long tunnels.

The Great Chamber itself was enormous, the ceiling stretching one kilometre overhead, the distance from the main entry way to the end of the chamber was one point eight kilometres, bisected in the centre by a chasm that stretched to infinity below, crossable only by aircraft or one of eight hard light bridges that crossed its one point two kilometre length.

The F.O.B was situated on the opposite side of the chasm to the entryway, all the light bridges had been deactivated with the controls on the far side guarded by a pair of Locust walkers and no less than forty infantry, with snipers set up in towers on the F.O.B's side watching the controls with orders to eliminate anyone, friendly or hostile, that attempted to activate the bridges.

The F.O.B itself was standard for pre-fabricated bases; a Command Building, a Communications Centre, a small Vehicle Bay and Aircraft Landing Pad servicing the bases vehicles and Banshees and, in the very centre, a pair of powerful He-3 fusion reactors linked to a shield generator, all surrounded by anti-aircraft, anti-vehicle and anti-infantry weapons emplacements.

The shield generator gave off a high-pitched whine as it began powering up, the smell of ozone permeated the air and 'Salasee's skin pricked as, with a flash and a hiss-pop, the shield came into life and extended out in a hundred and fifty metre radius, concealing everything beneath the dome in a protective barrier.

They needed only hold for a short while more, he knew, the secrecy with which they had carried out their mission until the human civilians had come here seeking shelter helping them more than an army of their finest warriors could have. The carcasses of those humans had been disposed of by tossing them into the chasm.

Their recovery fleet would arrive to retrieve them, or rather the artefacts, with 'Solasee and his troops to be collected as little more than an afterthought.

Until then, he'd give these humans hell. And he had just the tool with which to do it.

**OOOOO**

**Harvest, High Orbit**

_**Marathon**_**-class Cruiser Mark II **_**Fascination Street**_

**Flagship of Seventh Fleet, Task Force 66**

Captain Thaddeus Davian stood in the massive hangar bay of the top-of-the-line cruiser, facing Fleet Admiral Preston Cole, his back ramrod straight. Standing on either side of him were hundreds of Marines and crewmen in their Dress Whites, observing the ceremony as an honour guard.

"Congratulations, _Commodore_ Davian," Cole said, grinning ever-so-slightly as he handed Davian a case containing his new command stars, shaking the younger man's hand with his free one. "Your actions here went above and beyond the call of duty, resulting in the preservation of thousands of lives that would otherwise have been lost to us. Your commitment and devotion are an inspiration to us all."

"Thank you, sir," Davian managed to utter as the legendary man standing before him released the powerful grip on his hand and saluted him, Davian returning the salute crisply.

"You've been given command of Squadron 8, consisting of four destroyers and a Mark II _Marathon_," Cole continued. "Your new home awaits, Commodore. I'll have Sickle Flight escort you over. Dismissed."

Davian saluted the Admiral again, the hundreds of other men and women in the bay copying the move before departing at the behest of the their officers and NCO's. The Admiral strode away, his aides rushing to his side and offering reports of the engagement on the ground, ship and fleet status reports and countless other minutiae that they felt her needed to know.

Davian turned around and entered the open troop bay of a waiting dropship.

"Evening, sir," the pilot, a terribly young-looking man with coffee coloured skin, said in a rich British accent; the man had to be Earth-born to have an accent like that. "We'll be departing for your new flagship momentarily, escorting by Sickle Flight. Make yourself comfortable while we finish off the pre-launch checklist."

"Thanks, son," Davian said as he found a seat in the troop bay and the bay doors slid silently shut behind him. He fiddled quietly with his new stars as the pilot and co-pilot quietly went through their checklist. The loss of the most well-known cruiser in the fleet had been a blow for the morale of the UNSC soldiers and sailors, and to him in particular.

He'd loved the venerable ship and it had served him well, becoming his home away from home. He was getting a new command now, by all accounts a more powerful warship, one of only a handful in service, plus four state-of-the-art _Demetrius_-class destroyers, but he felt that it would never be the same as commanding the _Defiant Warrior_.

The Pelican lifted off from the deck as it was cleared to leave, exiting the hangar bay of the cruiser quickly and banking around the ships hull, coming up over the top of it as five Rapier interceptors fell into escort formation around it.

The flight carried on in silence as Davian tried to relax on the uncomfortable bench, designed for utility and not much else, the only sound the quiet hum of the engines reverberating through the hull.

"We're going to do a flyby of your new ship, sir," the pilot called back. "You might want to take a gander."

Davian nodded as he stood up and made his way into the unsealed cockpit.

"Right."

"There she is," the pilot said, grinning as his co-pilot whistled in appreciation. "Brand spanking new, still shiny and complete with that new car smell."

The ship was a little longer than the Mark I Marathons, but the basic design was the same. The Pelican and her escorts slowly looped around the ship as Davian busied himself ticking off the technical specs in his head as they matched up with what he was seeing.

Seventy-two dual barrelled twenty-one inch rail-guns dotted the hull of the ship, a testament to the designers attempt to give the ship a deadly broadside capability alongside it's twin Magnetic Accelerator Cannons. The heavy rail-guns were arranged in such away that most of them could fire forward, massively increasing the firepower the ship could bring to bare on frontal targets as well.

Spread across the hull were fifty-six of the latest rapid fire three inch rail-guns that were rapidly gaining popularity among the fleet. Three large dual-barrelled Particle Accelerator Cannons rested in turret mounts along the dorsal side, flanked by four point defence pulse lasers each, while two more were located ventrally with a similar defensive arrangement.

Three hundred Archer missile pods and sixteen Halberdier fusion torpedo tubes rounded out the Mark II's anti-ship armament. The offensive upgrades were augmented by defensive ones, too. Davian looked on appreciatively as his gaze drank in some of the ninety 30mm Helix CIWS cannons and point defence laser clusters that protected the cruiser from fighter and missile threats, and he smiled a little as they passed over one of the ships thirty-six counter-missile pods, racks filled with hundreds Disruptor counter-missiles to defend against Covenant plasma torpedoes.

The armour had been increased too, now six inches thicker on average, and the cruisers He-3 fusion reactors were more powerful and efficient than the DT fusion reactors common on older ships, allowing for faster charge times for the MACs, greater acceleration rates and more power for the state-of-the-art Mark IV Electromagnetic Field Generators, nearly thirty percent more efficient than the Mark III generators found on Mark I cruisers.

Everything he saw paled in comparison to what caught his eye next. Standing out against the clean, unmarked surface of the great cruiser was a scorched, blackened plate of armour that had been welded over the ship's original nameplate. In thirty foot high, damaged lettering , difficult to read thanks to the plasma scoring but still readily distinguishable, were the words "_Defiant Warrior_".

A grin spread across the recently promoted man's face as he took in the sight. The nameplate of his old command had survived and someone, probably Cole himself, had ensured that the _Warrior_ could live on and continue to take the fight to the enemy.

It wasn't the same as having the old girl still in action, but with the improved survivability and heavier armament of this deadly new _Warrior_, it might just be better. He found himself approving of his new command much more, and looked forward to seeing what she could do.

**OOOOO**

**Harvest, Surface**

**Mount Hieronymus **

**Marine Assembly Area, Suspected Forerunner Facility**

Weeks gave a low whistle of appreciation as a pair of Cyclops battle suits exited the rear of each of the four IFVs, thumping down the lowered ramp and coming to stand beside the two tanks.

Based on a civilian-designed power-assist suit built for loading and unloading heavy crates in relatively confined spaces that a forklift couldn't fit into, the Cyclops battle suit had been redesigned with armour rated to withstand light anti-vehicle weapons.

The operators were fully enclosed in the suits, seeing the world through a holographic projection on the inside of the armoured helmet, eliminating the weak spot that the civilian models faceplate created. Modular in design, the Cyclops' could be fitted with a variety of weapons, from the standard .30 calibre machine gun typically mounted on the right forearm and the 40mm HEAT grenade launcher typically mounted on the left forearm, right up to flamethrowers, shoulder mounted anti-aircraft missile launchers and artillery rocket pods, rail-guns, gauss cannons and even laser cannons.

The suits before Weeks were a combination of all these mutations, with no two suits being armed the same. Most had kept the machine guns, but had opted for more powerful weapons

Each suit had it's own dumb AI assisting the operators and, should the need arise, they could take over operation of the suits entirely. The rumour mill had it that sometime in the next few years, the human component of the suits would be phased out completely, leaving them to be run entirely by AIs.

"Captain O'Bannon?" one of the suited soldiers asked the woman half sticking out of one of the tanks. "Lieutenant Marco Fuentes, 71st Mechanized Infantry, we'll be escorting your tanks."

"A pleasure, Lieutenant," O'Bannon replied. "We're going to have a couple of UAV's here soon to run a quick recce of the area on the other side of that entry, until then we've been ordered to sit tight as more forces are funnelled down to us."

"There's still some fighting going on top-side, aliens using guerrilla warfare to slow down our reinforcements," Fuentes acknowledged. "Battle-Net indicates we'll be getting another six hundred plus Marines, half a dozen MBTs, a dozen IFVs and the rest of our suit platoon sometime in the next quarter of an hour. Where do you want my boys until then, ma'am?"

"Spread out, dig in and sit tight," O'Bannon answered. "Betty and Jasmine bloodied their noses pretty good and we haven't seen hide nor hair of them since, probably cowering in fear."

Weeks was little confused about who Betty and Jasmine were until he saw the names stencilled onto the armour of the behemoth tanks.

"Tankers," he muttered in bemusement to one of his fellow ground pounders. The other man just grinned and shook his head.

"Heads up, scout drones inbound," a disembodied voice crackled over the radio and sure enough, a few seconds later a trio of disc-shaped aerial reconnaissance drones came flying down the tunnel at speed before coming to a hover over the heads of the Marines.

"Link up with those drones, Marines!" Captain Bakersfield, de facto leader of the gathering of infantry, shouted out, and Weeks used his neural lace to synch his HUD to the cameras mounted on the drones over-head, opening a picture-in-picture screen that allowed him to see what the machines saw.

"All synched?" Bakersfield yelled again, receiving a series of affirmatives from the NCOs' as they checked with their charges.

"Alright, let's send those drones through," O'Bannon said into her radio, and up at the mouth of the long tunnel, the operators acknowledged and sent the tiny machines through the opening into the massive underground chamber beyond.

As the craft broke through into the chamber at high speed, they were met with pulses of plasma fire which were deftly dodged. Weeks watched as blue and green fire tracked across the sky, trying to bring down the tiny drones as they flew over fortified positions.

He saw strange machines that moved along on four ungainly looking legs guarding some kind of panel alongside groups of infantry hunkered down behind purple alloy crates and portable energy shields, he saw the beetle-like hover tanks and bikes patrolling in groups of three on this side of the chasm that bisected the chamber, and an equal number of patrolling vehicles on the far side.

One of the feeds died suddenly, and one of the remaining drones caught images of Covenant fliers spraying plasma at them with abandon. The other drone took video feed of what looked like a small forward operating base, protected by a faintly glimmering energy field and a network of stationary turrets. Then came the pictures of sniper nests kept aloft by some kind of anti-gravity platform, each one with three of the bird-like aliens the Corps had come to know as Jackals, sporting long barrelled rifles of some kind.

The drone that was in the middle of aerial acrobatics with the Covenant fliers was destroyed by the dual plasma cannons on one of them, leaving just the one drone to continue with the reconnaissance. AA fire flew up from the F.O.B in the form of fuel rods, plasma pulses and large pink needles that attempted to track the wildly manoeuvring drone, it's cameras staying on target despite the evasive actions it was taking.

Behind the F.O.B was another four legged walker vehicle, much larger than the others and obviously armed as a large cannon mounted near the rear of the beetle-like vehicle tracked the drone before a blue flash filled the screen, followed by static.

"Holy shit," Weeks heard somebody say, and he couldn't help but agree. What the hell was that huge thing?

"Why doesn't the navy just blast them from orbit via Son Of a Bitch?" someone else said, referring to the colloquial name used for Strategic Orbital Bombardment, so used because the first words out of someone's mouth following one were usually 'son of a bitch.'

"They want this place intact for the alien tech, numb-nuts," Sergeant Benson replied. "Stow that shit, all of you. We've got a job to do and we're damn well gonna do it, got that?"

"Yes ma'am," Weeks replied with an enthusiasm that he didn't really feel.

**OOOOO**

**Epsilon Indi system, three-point-two AU from Harvest**

**Squadron 8**

**UNSCDFS **_**Defiant Warrior**_**, originally christened **_**Two Lane Blacktop**_

"How are you liking your new command so far, sir?" Lieutenant Callahan asked Davian with a small smile.

"She's not the same as the old girl," Davian said wistfully. "But she'll do, Callahan, she'll do."

"Yes sir," Callahan said, smiling a little wider. "The rest of the squadron is operating at peak capacity, sir, and so are we. We'll be ready to jump out and link up with Third Fleet Reserve at Aurelia to reinforce Third in just a few moments."

"Excellent, no problems with the new systems then?" Davian asked as he sipped the horrid concoction that apparently passed for coffee with a grimace.

Callahan shook his head. "No sir, all systems appear nominal."

"Excellent," the captain repeated. "Let's send our goodbyes to the fleet and-"

An alarm blared suddenly, cutting off the rest of his sentence, and Ensign Makeshi called out to him. "Slip-space rupture detected, single new contact, Covenant frigate ten thousand clicks out!"

_Practically right on top of us_, Davian thought.

"Let's see what this thing can do," he said aloud. "Get me targeting solution for the heavy rail-guns, full broadside, ram it down their throats. Bring us around to heading 0-2-0, order our escorts to go to hot standby, we'll handle this one ourselves. Inform the fleet that we have hostile contacts and tell them to be ready for more."

The crew, some surviving members of the original Warrior, some new faces, carried out their tasks with a quiet professionalism and the cruiser oriented itself to bring as much firepower as possible to bare on the hostile ship.

Tungsten rods launched out from the dual-barrelled rail-guns, battering the little ships shields with just three volleys before they collapsed and the frigate had dozens of holes punched through it's relatively fragile hull. The frigate didn't even manage to fire a single shot in retaliation as it lost power and was set adrift by the firepower brought down upon it.

The 'battle' had been over in less than twenty seconds, and Davian had a newfound respect for his new ship and it's apparently devastating broadside capability.

"Sir, word from Admiral Schweiger, we're to return to the defensive line with all due haste," the communications officer reported.

"Make it so," Davian ordered and as one, the cruiser and four destroyers turned around and made for the gathered fleet nearer to Harvest's orbit. Behind them, dozens of slip-space ruptures opened, spilling out more Covenant ships.

Time for round three.


	21. The Siege Of Harvest, Part One

Pulse lasers strobing and Helix CIWS guns spitting out streams of thirty millimetre HE rounds at a rate of 6000 per minute, the _Defiant Warrior_ and her four escorting destroyers swatted dozens of hostile fighters from space around them as they attempted to put as much distance as possible between them and the Covenant fleet spilling into real-space behind them.

One of the downsides to the upgraded firepower and protection afforded by the Mark II cruiser was that it no longer had the capacity to support multiple squadrons of fighter craft, leaving the Warrior to rely on the squadrons carried by the Demetrius-class destroyers for interdiction.

"Slip-space rupture front, thirty degrees from port, range eight thousand clicks!" Makeshi cried out. "Single Covenant cruiser, two destroyers, right between us and the fleet."

The Covenant were jumping into knife-fight ranges, where their plasma weapons could be used for maximum effect. Unfortunately for them, at such close ranges the Warrior was just as deadly. Her AI, going by the name Paladin, reacted with a swiftness no organic could match, firing the three dorsal PACs on the cruiser.

The alien ships shield flashed as it was assaulted, rippling as the streams of particles swept across it, glowing a fierce orange as the immense energies were re-radiated back into space. Pulse lasers fired back from it as four six hundred ton MAC rounds shattered one of it's escorts, hundreds of Archer missiles blanketing the other and forcing it to switch to defensive fire.

One of the _Warrior_'s twin MACs fired a round into the hostile cruiser, smashing down it's protective barrier and allowing the heavy rail-guns to turn the purple hulled ship into a floating mass of holes. The _Warrior_ rolled as it continued on-course, bringing it's twin ventral PACs to bear, one set of twin beams cutting deep into the cruisers ruined hull, severing power feeds and ripping open the ships gut, the other sending a similar assault raking across the beleaguered alien destroyers shield.

A plasma torpedo flashed away from the dying cruiser, closing in on the _Warrio_r fast as counter-missiles erupted from their racks. A hundred counter missiles detonated all around the torpedo, EMP bursts rendering the deadly weapon useless as the _Warrior_'s second MAC cracked the remaining destroyer in half and the cruiser received a couple dozen Archers for its troubles.

"We've definitely got to get more of these," Davian said appreciatively, thinking about what the chances of taking down a frigate, two destroyers and a cruiser with virtually no real damage to speak of, to either his ship or his escorts, would be with a Mark I.

"Sir," Paladin said over the bridge speakers. "The Covenant fleet is holding station; they're not pursuing us."

"What? Show me," Davian said, brow furrowing in consternation. Everything they knew about the Covenant, which was admittedly not much, indicated that they never sought to deny contact. Quite the opposite, in fact, they were usually the aggressors, the first to make a move.

The holographic display flickered as the images represented on it changed from his formation to the enemy's. Sure enough, fifty Covenant ships of various classes sat idly in a spherical defensive formation, lighter ships shielding the big ones in the centre.

"Sensor readouts indicate that their shields are active, but their weapons and sub-light drives are on standby," Paladin reported. "Not including ODIN, we outnumber them almost six-to-one. Perhaps that is a factor in this new strategy of theirs?"

Davian somehow doubted that. They'd outnumbered the Covenant in every engagement to date, and that hadn't stopped them before. Ahead of his squadron, Seventh Fleet and Admiral Schweiger's task force had formed up into a massive three dimensional wall, situated far enough outside of Harvest's gravity well to allow for unhindered manoeuvring.

The wall wasn't advancing, although several fighter squadrons were surging out to meet Davian's squadron. They too were just sitting there, waiting for the Covenant to make a move, it seemed, although Davian was quite sure that Admiral Cole was coming up with some grand strategy; there was no way the man would suffer a hostile fleet in UNSC territory.

"Slip-space rupture detected," Paladin reported. "Thirty thousand clicks aft, starboard. Single Covenant ship, unknown classification."

"Unknown classification," Davian muttered. "Now what are they going to throw at us?"

"Solid sensor readings," Paladin said. "Displaying image now."

The holographic display shuddered and morphed, mutating into the image of a sleek alien warship. It lacked the vaguely tear-drop shape common to Covenant ships of all previously known classes, instead taking a shape reminiscent of a sword or dagger, a curved nose sweeping back into a tapering hull that was widest in the middle, before tapering back again until it reached the rectangular engine array.

The dorsal surface of the ship was smooth, dotted with gun ports and turrets, but the ventral surface was covered in rectangular structures that protruded out away from the main hull. Most of these structures had readily identifiable weapons on them, and all of them had what appeared to be windows with internal lights aglow. The structures themselves reminded Davian of apartment buildings, hanging upside down.

_But_, he thought, _there's no way that's what they are_.

"Hostile vessel measures approximately seven thousand two hundred metres in length, three thousand metres in height and three thousand four hundred metres at it's widest point," Paladin stated, his voice synthesizers doing a good job of expressing awe and worry. "Power readings are enormous, easily twenty times our own."

"Jesus Christ," Davian heard one of his crew say as his squadron reached the safety of the fleet and was absorbed into the defensive wall. He agreed. He'd never seen any space construct that large before, even the Epsilon Eridani Fleet Yards primary shipyard was dwarfed by the alien ship.

"New class designation," Paladin said. "Dreadnought."

00000

_**Marathon**_**-class Cruiser Mark II **_**Fascination Street**_

**Flagship of Seventh Fleet**

**Flag Bridge/Combat Information Centre**

"Who decided to call it a dreadnought?" Admiral Preston Cole said, glaring at the image of the massive alien ship as it moved into formation with the rest of the alien fleet.

"My colleague aboard the _Defiant Warrior_, Paladin," Fascination Street's AI, whose avatar took the form of a burly fisherman and who had chosen the rather underwhelming name "Barry", replied.

"Rather fitting, if it's even half as powerful as it looks," Cole said a little gruffly as his mind went through a variety of possible counters to the alien fleet and the dreadnought. Ideally, he'd have one of the ten Orbital Defence Platforms in orbit of Harvest fire their massively powerful 'Super' Magnetic Accelerator Cannons at long range to thin out the fleet and possibly even take out the dreadnought before it could be come a threat to his ships.

Unfortunately, none of them had finished construction yet, thanks in part to the Senate stonewalling the UNSCs efforts to have nothing but the best for the defence of the only world the Covenant knew the location of, so that left that option out.

He had a number of carriers at his disposal, not to mention a dozen orbital hangar bays each containing thirty-six fighters and bombers; he could send the strike craft in first loaded with fusion missiles to soften up the fleet, but the Covenants enormously effective point defence would undoubtedly reap a high toll on them. The potential gains did not outweigh the potential loss; he wasn't the kind of person to send hundreds of pilots to their deaths when there was no guarantee that it'd have an appreciable effect on the enemy.

His fleet outnumbered theirs by a huge margin, much more so than in previous engagements, but he wasn't about to charge in with an unknown factor, namely the dreadnought, staring him in the face. From what he understood of the briefings he'd received about Covenant technology, it was thought that Covenant shield strength scaled with the size of the ship; simply put, the bigger the ship, the stronger the shield. The same seemed to go for their plasma weapons, too.

Maintaining stand-off range would be ideal, but at these ranges it was possible to dodge MAC rounds and Archers and Halberdiers would be easy targets for their point defence. Closing range with them would allow them to engage with all of their weapons, and given the fact that most of his fleet was made up of destroyers, that would result in heavy light ship casualties, potentially unacceptably high kill/death ratios was not something he was going to risk.

That left him with one reasonable option; split the fleet, having half make an intra-system micro-jump behind the alien fleet while the other half closed the range at sub-light, creating a vice. It would put tremendous strain on the slip-space drives of the ships doing the jumping, probably enough to ensure that the ships would need a drive overhaul before they could jump again, but it was the best option he had.

He was about to give the order when Barry spoke again.

"Hostile fleet is moving, sir," the AI reported in his deep, hoarse voice. "Away from each other; they're splitting up into groups of ten. The dreadnought is maintaining position."

"Damn," Cole said as he observed the alien ships splitting up and advancing on Harvest from different vectors. "They're not here to fight us, they're a blockade running force. There must be something planet side they want bad, and I doubt it's the safe return of their soldiers."

"Shall I inform the Marines, tell them to hasten their advance on the enemy stronghold?" Barry asked, to which Cole nodded an affirmative.

"Whatever they're here for, it can't be good for us. We cannot let them get their hands on it," Cole spoke quietly, more to himself than to Barry or the quietly bustling CIC crew. Louder, he said, "Split our own forces to meet them, cruiser squadrons are to use their own discretion when engaging. Load our bomber wings with Halberdiers and tell them to strike at targets of opportunity. Nothing purple gets into orbit."

"And the dreadnought?"

Cole considered for a moment, then shook his head a little, watching his fleet split up into individual squadrons and move to intercept the aliens. "Squadrons 8, 11 and 26 are to move to engage the dreadnought with Carrier Groups 2 and 9 in support."

"Will it be enough?"

Cole had no answer.

00000

**Harvest, Surface**

**Mount Hieronymous**

**Suspected Forerunner Facility**

Weeks was running, harder than he ever had in his life, zigging and zagging as plasma rained down all around him and bullets and missiles roared by overhead. Plasma mortars splashed to earth as the air caught fire from multiple tank guns firing in return. The haunting howl of the alien fliers as the made strafing runs filled his heart with dread and he will his legs to pump faster.

Hundreds of other Marines were sprinting flat-out across the open ground toward a shallow ditch in the artifical flooring, with clear water flowing through it, the only cover they had aside from their own vehicles. Weeks skidded hard on his backside, sliding into the ditch, the chilly water barely registering through his temperature regulating fatigues. More Marines dropped in around him as the few that arrived ahead of him began returning fire, keeping low and praying that the aliens indirect fire tanks or fliers didn't decide to make their day worse.

A Cyclops thundered down into the ditch further along, crouching low and firing it's 40mm grenade launcher several times at a cluster of alien infantry huddled behind a stationary shield generator. The noise was incredible, the sharp retort of hundreds of rifles, the whine of plasma weapons, the boom of explosions, all echoing off the walls and ceiling of the chamber in a cacophony of warfare.

Weeks adjusted the noise dampeners in his helmet, bringing the sounds down to a more bearable level, then took a knee and fired a long burst from his SAW, forcing a group of bird-like Jackals to hunker down behind their shields, becoming less mobile in doing so and making themselves easy targets for the Cyclops; a trio of incendiary grenades shattered their formation and sent the survivors screeching away in agony, trying to put out the flames.

A rapid fire plasma turret mounted near their objective, the controls to a hard-light bridge so common to known Forerunner facilities, swivelled about and targeted the Cyclops as the battle suit targeted it in return. Plasma crossed paths with depleted uranium and high explosive grenades, the Cyclops' armoured casing glowing white hot under the impacts, melting and running in rivulets.

DU rounds pinged off the armour of the turret, denting and perforating the casing but not getting through to the operator as a pair of 40mm grenades detonated at it's base, washing it in flame and shrapnel and mangling one of the twin barrels. Blue flame erupted out of the ruined barrel and something, presumably the power cells, detonated in a blinding light that made Weeks' visor auto-polarise to its darkest setting.

Ground attack craft shrieked overhead, spinning around and angling to attack the Marines assembled in the ditch; Weeks brought the SAW to bear alongside a hundred other rifles and machine guns. Depleted uranium and tungsten rounds punched up into the relatively fragile craft, denting the armour and perforating in places; one ship suffered a failure and careened into the ground as the others opened fire with a combination of rapid-fire plasma cannons and radioactive fuel rods.

Man and machine scattered, seeking cover that wasn't to be found as MANPADS were finally broken out. Fragmentation rockets flashed up at the retreating forms of the shrieking aircraft, fire-and-forget systems locked on and guiding them to their targets. Not one of them lived to make a second run.

"This is fucking insane!" Weeks shouted at no one in particular as plasma comets arced over head, splashing down behind the creek-bed, most missing their targets, two claiming a Cyclops battle suit and fire team. Four-legged walking machines began advancing away from their holding positions, bright red lances of energy sweeping the battlefield and incinerating anybody unlucky enough to be out in the open.

Over the constant chatter and whine of small arms fire came the booming of tank guns firing; streaks of flame connected the marauding MBTs to their targets, 120mm ferric tungsten rounds shattering upon glowing energy barriers as they sprung to life around the walkers.

"Shields!" someone screamed over the Battle Net. "Those walkers have shields, you see that!?"

The walker nearest to Weeks swept its weapon over one of the IFVs as the lightly armoured vehicle opened up with it's auto-cannon and anti-tank rockets. The walkers shield shimmered and rippled as hundreds of 30mm rounds and a pair of Violator anti-tank rockets battered against it. The searing beam weapon cut into the hull of the IFV, turning the armour a fiery orange and cooking the crew alive in side.

Then, it turned toward Weeks.

00000

**Betty Blue, Devastator Main Battle Tank**

**Captain O'Bannon**

**That same time**

"Target acquired, firing main guns," Lieutenant May reported, his words punctuated by a double-thump as the twin accelerators fired in succession. Their target, an alien walker that had just killed an IFV, was struck hard, it's weakened shield collapsing under the strain and it's rear-left leg ripped wholly from its body in a shower of flame and shrapnel.

A third round struck the crippled walker from another tank, hitting dead centre and killing the walker as another of the alien machines strode out from it's position, beam weapon raking across Betty's armour. The tank lurched forward as the beam played across it's hull, the turret atop it's body swivelling and firing another two tungsten rounds. The walkers shield flashed to life around it, absorbing the kinetic energy and radiating it away over the entire surface area of the shield.

A trio of Marines carrying anti-tank gauss cannons fired of a series of shots at the walker, several of the rounds shattering against the protective barrier before it collapsed and the comparatively fragile walker was perforated with half a dozen holes. The rounds must have severed power feeds or perhaps killed the vehicles operator, because it stopped moving and seemed to power down.

"Incoming," O'Bannon said as the ADLS came alive, targeting a series of glowing green projectiles. Three of them detonated prematurely under the ADLS's onslaught of deadly accurate fire, the fourth going wide and sailing just a few feet over the top of the human tank. The mini-gun whirred to life, sending hundreds of rounds in the direction the shots had come from and cutting down a group of the squat little aliens now known to the Marines as 'grunts'.

Betty's radio was alive with the chatter of battle; Marines on foot reporting contact, destroyed vehicles or aircraft or requesting assistance from other units or nearby vehicles, UNSC vehicle crews reporting damage to their vehicles or likewise reporting vehicle or aircraft kills. The command channel was almost eerily quiet in comparison, the rear echelon officers holding position outside the chamber delivering orders or tactical updates to the frontlines.

"Hostile air unit," May said. "Air defences online and acquiring target."

Plasma bolts rained down on Betty as she zigged and zagged across the open ground on their side of the chamber, striking her armour and causing it glow white-hot and partially melt under the intensity of the hits. The ADLS opened fire again as the alien aircraft fired one of those green projectiles down at Betty, neutralising it quickly even as a single anti-aircraft rocket escaped it's tubes nestled at the back of the tanks hull and arced up to intercept the little ship.

The flier tried to evade, only to have the rocket alter its trajectory and slam into one of it's stubby wings, shearing it off and spraying the cockpit with shrapnel. Betty hurled her bulk away from the falling craft, skirting around the flaming wreck and firing one of her main guns, punching a hole clean through an alien mortar tank on the far side of the chasm.

Alien infantry taking cover behind portable shields on their side of the chasm opened fire at the massive machine as it hurtled past at breakneck speed, splashing it's flank armour with dozens of plasma bolts, causing the composite armour glow. The mini-gun swivelled on its mount, whirring as it spat thousands of shards of depleted uranium death back in retaliation, shattering shields and flesh alike.

A brilliant beam of vibrant green-blue plasma lanced across the chasm as the massive four-legged walker spotted by the recon drones stomped forward, slamming into one the Devastators, boiling away armour in the blink of an eye and cutting through the tank with ease.

"Son of a bitch!" someone shouted in O'Bannon's ear; probably another tanker.

"Critical threat!" May called out. "Targeting and engaging!"

Betty's twin cannons levelled with the behemoth walker and fired in succession, the rounds leaving a burning trail through the air and smashing into the armour around the walkers "head". Armour dented and deformed, but the walker was left otherwise unharmed.

More tanks joined in, half a dozen rounds striking the walker seconds apart from each other. Unfazed, the walker fired it's plasma beam again, this time sweeping it between two tanks, incinerating a group of unfortunate Marines using the vehicles as cover from Covenant infantry and slagging the vehicles' armour and weapons, effectively mission killing them.

Betty and the remaining tanks fired again, supported by nearby IFVs as they opened up with their auto-cannons and anti-tank missile launchers. Even a number of shoulder launched AT missiles and AV gauss rounds detonated against the thick hide of the massive walker, none of it doing any appreciable damage as far as O'Bannon could tell.

All these vehicles and soldiers concentrating their fire one this single target left them vulnerable to lesser Covenant units, and more people were lost in this short exchange than had been in the rest of the battle in it's entirety.

"We're getting slaughtered!" May said. "We just can't take this thing down."

O'Bannon's earpiece crackled to life before she could answer. "This is Colonel Mokena, CO of Elephant Base Alpha, all units commence tactical retreat pending release of Fury tactical warheads."

"Damn it," O'Bannon murmured. Aloud she said, "You heard the man, get us out of here but let's keep those Marines covered as best we can."

Betty lurched backward as the giant walker across the chasm fired again, slagging Betty's sister tank, Jasmine. O'Bannon winced as her fellow tankers were incinerated and Betty's main guns fired back at the behemoth that was single-handedly forcing the UNSC forces to retreat.

They'd hit it with everything they had short of aircraft or orbital assets, which were unavailable for obvious reasons, to no real effect. Despite that, O'Bannon felt that perhaps ordering a tactical nuclear strike might be going too far.

The Covenant forces remaining on this side of the chasm seemed to have regained their confidence at seeing the humans retreating, some even charging out of their cover and firing wildly, plasma, needles and radioactive projectiles surging after the Marines.

Their retreat wasn't quite a rout, at least; fire teams were peeling off, leap frogging by twos and offering a constant wave of covering fire, tanks and IFVs were moving slowly enough to provide some cover and were keeping up their own streams of fire.

As the first elements of Marines reached the opening to the massive corridor and turned to cover the next group, the thrice-damned walker fired again, playing it's beam across an IFV and a few Marine fire teams, reducing them to little more than cinder and ash.

A roar followed the retreating humans as the aliens cried out in victory, still shooting the fleeing soldiers in the back as they tried to escape. The chatter of small arms fire died off as the human soldiers reached the safety of the entrance to the chamber, the last few vehicles close behind, guns still blazing as they kept the aliens of their backs.

"What the hell was that thing?" May asked, wide-eyed and breathing erratically.

O'Bannon shook her head as Betty trundled past an emergency triage site to take position next to a heavily damaged IFV.

"Hell if I know, but it looks like Command isn't going to let it be a problem," she replied. Deploying a tactical nuclear warhead sounded like overkill to her, on top of essentially just wasting the lives of the men and women that had died trying to take the chamber, but she could understand the reasoning.

"Captains," her radio chattered on a channel reserved for the commanding officers of this force. "This is Colonel Mokena. Send your wounded top-side and maintain a security cordon of the entrance for the time being. Things have gotten interesting upstairs and you will need to keep the aliens from leaving before we deploy the warhead."

"HICOM is very clear on this," the colonel continued. "Whatever the aliens are after here, we can only assume that it's good for them. And if it's good for them, it's bad for us. If we cannot take it, we cannot allow the Covenant off-world with it. Understood?"

"Yes sir," O'Bannon replied amongst a chorus of the other remaining captains. To herself, she said, "fat lot of good that's going to do us if they bring that walker out here."

OOOOO

_**Marathon**_**-class Cruiser Mark II **_**Fascination Street**_

**Flagship of Seventh Fleet**

**Flag Bridge/Combat Information Centre**

Admiral Cole's mouth set in a thin line as the TAC display lit up with thousands of contacts; missiles streaking across space to meet hostile ships in ceaseless conflagrations, battering shields mercilessly even as vast swathes of them were shot down by alien point defences.

Lines connecting the ships of the Harvest Defence Fleet with those of the invading fleet flickered and began rapidly shortening as MAC rounds were fired and approached their targets. A separate TAC display to the right of the main one showed the _Fascination Street_'s status, specifically ammunition counters informing Cole of how quickly his flagship was burning through missiles and rail-gun slugs.

"New hostile contacts, Admiral," Barry said as the flagship manoeuvred away from a pair of hostile cruisers that had taken an interest in it. "Fighters and dropships, sir. Approximately six hundred and and that number is rising rapidly."

"Launch our ground-based Rapier squadrons to compliment the fleets own units and tell GROCOM to launch all available F-99s," Cole responded quickly, wincing as a friendly carrier was struck by a pair of plasma torpedoes and began listing to starboard, bleeding atmosphere and crew. Two more torpedoes hit the wounded carrier and it's running lights flickered off as it lost power; the ship was listed "Mission Killed" on the TAC display.

A Mark I _Marathon_ and a quartet of destroyers positioned themselves between the flagship and the two alien cruisers on the TAC display and hundreds of new contacts appeared as the allied ships fired off a salvo of missiles. The alien cruisers opened up with every available pulse laser and only a few dozen warheads struck each ship.

Torpedoes flashed away from them and began tracking the flagships defenders as the five UNSC ships fired a MAC round each. The munitions crossed paths in the blink of an eye, five MAC rounds cracking one of the cruisers shields and warping and mangling it's hull, taking it out of the fight for now.

One of the UNSC destroyers manoeuvred away from the torpedoes tracking it, inadvertently moving into the firing solution of a hostile battle cruiser and getting struck by an energy projector. The beam of energy sliced the ship neatly in two, cooking off unspent Archer missiles and setting off secondary detonations all across the ship until the reactor was breached and a new sun was born.

Another was struck by two torpedoes, losing the MAC and a number of missile pods but otherwise still capable of fighting. The cruiser that was the lynchpin unit of the squadron took no less than four torpedoes amidships and, despite having been weakened first by counter-missiles and then by the EM shield, the damage was terrible.

Two hundred metres of armour boiled away as hundreds of unspent missiles detonated in their housings, sending fire sweeping through the fragile innards of the cruiser. Archer missiles fled the ships remaining pods and spent themselves against the guns and shields of the offending cruiser even as the _Marathon_-class ship was further punished by pulse lasers and dozens of alien fighters sensing blood in the water.

"Damn it," Cole murmured, glaring at the TAC display as a pair of friendly contacts winked away. "Barry, bring us around and bring our guns to bear on that alien cruiser."

"Sir, I must advise against committing the flagship to -"

"Four thousand people are about to die, Barry," Cole growled. "We have the power to save them, and we're going to do it. Commit us to battle."

"Yes sir," Barry said, resignation evident in his voice. "May I be granted total control for the duration? Odds of survival will increase by approximately thirty-two percent."

"Very well," Cole said. "Just get us between those ships."

Cole rattled off orders to a small group of ships maintaining position on the planets far side, bringing them into the fight as the first Covenant ships began to enter effective range of Harvest's defence satellites.

Meanwhile, _Fascination Street_ brought its multi-million tonne bulk around to bear on the ship besieging what remained of the friendly squadron as Barry acquired firing solutions for the cruisers many rail-guns, missile pods and particle accelerators. The secondary TAC display lit up with new information as the flagship committed itself to the fight.

All three dorsal PACs fired in unison with thirty dual rail-gun turrets and a dozen missile pods, seemingly taking the Covenant ship completely by surprise. The ships already weakened shield strained against the energies arrayed against it before failing in spectacular fashion; the hull was punctured and warped in a hundred places.

Pulse lasers strobed back at the flagship, punching into her armour and sending molten titanium jetting out into space to cool rapidly, but it was too little too late. _Fascination Street_ brought it's MACs to bear and fired one slug followed immediately by another.

The cruiser seemed to crumple almost in half with the first impact, the second gutted it and sent it tumbling away, engines flickering on and off as it's reactors failed.

"Order that squadron to retreat to the far side of the planet, they're combat ineffective," Cole said, distracted as a pair of hostile battle cruisers cut down half a dozen UNSC ships and set to work tearing a hole in Harvest's ODIN, shields blazing as countless missiles and slugs beat them like a drum.

Hostile destroyers and frigates slipped past the twin behemoths, skirting around their fields of fire and making their way through the hole in the ODIN, hundreds of dropships and fighters surging through with them.

"Sir," Barry said. "Captain Davian requests immediate support; he feels he will be unable to defeat the dreadnought without it."

"We have nothing to spare, Barry," Cole said as he used his CNI to direct ships to plug the hole and drive away the battle cruisers. "Give him authorisation for the release of fusion warheads. If that's not enough, he is to abandon the engagement and return to the main lines."

"Aye sir, authorisation sent."

The Covenant ships that made it through past the fleet and through ODIN were making a beeline straight for Mount Hieronymus and there was nothing Cole could do about it now.

"Get me Admiral Schweiger, Barry."

"Aye, sir. One moment."

OOOOO

_**Marathon**_**-class cruiser Mark II **_**Defiant Warrior**_

**Bridge**

The _Warrior_ heaved itself mightily out of the way of a group of plasma torpedoes, crushing Captain Davian into his seat under the gee-forces. Missiles flickered away from the cruiser and the other ships in the battle group in response, joined by a handful of MAC rounds and rail-gun slugs but, as with all other attacks, seemingly did no appreciable damage to the mammoth ship.

They were down five destroyers already, and every ship had suffered damage; one of the Mark I cruisers had a gaping hole along it's dorsal surface, edges still glowing from the heat of the torpedo impacts and her main gun was offline.

"Sir," Paladin said over the bridge PA. "Admiral Cole insists that he has no forces to spare. We have been authorised to deploy fusion weapons at your discretion."

Davian winced as another destroyer was struck by an energy projector and it's representative on the TAC display winked to Mission Killed. Another ship down. At this rate, they weren't going to last. The _Warrior_ itself was no longer sparkling new; her hull was pitted and scored with countless pulse laser impacts and she'd lost a handful of rail-guns and CIWS mounts as well as had power feeds severed to one of the ventral PACs by a glancing blow from an energy projector.

Counter-missile racks were emptying as quickly as they were filled to keep torpedoes at bay and their reserves were dwindling rapidly. Davian saw no other option available to him.

"Alright, send word to the whole battle group; release of fusion devices is authorised," Davian ordered. "We'll stagger-fire, one torpedo after another for optimal effect, we don't want to risk a full salvo and having one torpedo impact too soon and cook off the rest."

"Aye sir, sending orders. Calculating optimal firing solutions. Done," Paladin responded. "The battle group stands ready to fire on your order."

"Do it."

With those two small words, hundreds of Archer missiles erupted from the battered ships, accompanied by dozens of fusion-tipped torpedoes hidden behind clusters of missiles for some protection against the Covenant dreadnoughts many pulse laser clusters.

MAC rounds hurtled along behind the missiles and torpedoes, overtaking them in the blink of an eye and shattering harmlessly against the colossally powerful energy barrier protecting the enormous alien ship.

It was then that the dreadnought did something unexpected.

"Slipsace rupture detected," Paladin said. "The dreadnought is jumping."

Sure enough, a burst of light and radiation warped space in front of the collossal enemy ship and the vessel slid forward into the slipspace rupture. The rupture winked shut behind it seconds before the mass of missiles passed harmlessly through the space the dreadnought had occupied.

Davian ground his teeth in frustration, knowing he'd just wasted dozens of fusion weapons and hundreds of Archer missiles that he couldn't afford to waste.

"Slipspace rupture detected," Paladin said again. "The dreadnought has entered Harvest's high orbit."

"Bring the battlegroup around and reform us with the main fleet," Davian ordered, wondering what the Covenant were trying to pull with that stunt.

"Yes sir," Paladin responded and the assorted friendly ships began assembling to return to the defensive lines. Alarms started blaring suddenly as the Warrior about-faced. "Alert! Multiple slipspace ruptures detecting, fifteen thousand clicks aft! Hostile reinforcements slipping in!"

"Redress the battleline!" Davian all but shouted. "Bring everything we've got to bear on those reinforcements and order all ships to full reverse thrust; we need some distance."

The friendly ships on the TAC display shifted formation once again, many captains taking it upon themselves to launch salvoes of missiles at the new alien contacts. The two Carrier Groups assisting Davians small fleet launched their Rapier interceptors en masse at the rapidly growing number of hostile ships, Shortsword bombers laden with fusion bombs right behind them.

Not having time to launch fighters of their own and with their shields still down from the slipspace jump, the Covenant ships proved to be surprisingly vulnerable for a few precious moments and three frigates and a cruiser fell prey to the marauding strikecraft before the strikecraft themselves were mercilessly cut down in their droves by pulse lasers.

Still, they managed to claw down a pair of destroyers and bought time for the larger UNSC ships to bring their weapons to bare before being savagely ripped from existence, the cries of their pilots echoing over the BattleNet.

MAC rounds whipped away from the now-retreating UNSC ships and pummelled the disorganised Covenant fleet, now numbering three-dozen vessels. Davian was rewarded with a destroyer and a cruiser dying under the weight of the salvo.

"Multiple slipspace ruptures detected," Paladin reported grimly. "Thirty thousand clicks aft; we're being boxed in."

Davian cursed as his mind whirred; they were outnumbered and had expended far too many muntions for this kind of fight. If he split his forces to fight both enemy fleets, he was going to get his teeth kicked in. He only had one option that didn't involved the destruction of his ships.

"Order all ships to prepare for a slipspace jump to the edge of the system," he ordered. "Inform Admiral Cole that our position is untenable and we're making a tactical withdrawal; we'll regroup at the systems edge, take on fresh supplies from Outer Supply Platform 8 and jump back into the fight as quickly as we're able."

A friendly destroyer winked off the TAC display and one of the Mark I _Marathon_s flashed and was listed as Mission Killed as the Covenant brought their plasma torpedoes to bear on the retreating human ships.

Davians assembled fleet poured all available power into their slipspace cores as they fought off the Covenant from in front and behind, losing another three destroyers and a carrier before finally managing to escape to the safety of slipspace for the handful of seconds it took for them to jump to the systems edge, just sixty thousand clicks from OSP 8, a reasonably large space station that served as a supply station for just such a situation.

Lightly armed with only a CIWS network, the stations carried huge numbers of Archer missiles, Halberdier torpedoes, railgun rounds and MAC rounds, as well as counter-missiles and CIWS ammunition. The station's resupply cycle was largely automated, making the process relatively quick, but even so Davians group would be out of the fight for some time.

OOOOO

**Harvest, Surface**

**Firebase Alpha**

Admiral Schweiger strapped himself into the dropships seat, cursing himself for being caught dirtside when his flagship needed him most. Beside him, the Colonial Ambassador, Eva DeSenta, strapped into her own seat, eyes wide with terror as Firebase Alpha was rocked by sonic booms from passing F99s.

"Oh Gods," she whispered to herself. "Don't let me die here."

"Relax," Schweiger said, voice deceptively calm. "We'll be out of here in no time. Besides, the Covenant aren't even looking our way, all their attention seems to be focussed on Mount Hieronymus."

Schweiger had just been speaking to Admiral Cole and knew that, despite a numerical edge, things weren't looking great in orbit. The Covenant had opened a hole in ODIN and a number of ships were making planetfall, safe from retribution from UNSC ships for the time being as Cole was understandably reluctant to order MACs be brought to bare on ships in atmosphere.

To make matters worse, the enormous Covenant dreadnought had so far proven impervious to anything the fleet had been able to hit it with and more than sixty new Covenant ships had slipped in and forced a sizeable friendly battlegroup to retreat.

"I thought you said the Covenant would need a thousand ships to breach Harvests defences?" DeSenta said accusingly, almost hyperventilating. She was no coward, but being on a planet that was in the process of being invaded was a little too much for her.

"It's a figure of speech," Schweiger said. "ODIN has to cover every approach to the planet, so even though we've got an enormous number of satellites up there, only a certain percentage can engage at any given time. And our fleet can't be everywhere at once."

"I know," DeSenta said apologetically as the dropship jerked off the ground and began climbing. "I'm sorry, I'm just scared."

"It's quite alright," Schweiger replied, making sure his CNI transmitter was inactive before leaning over conspirationally to the woman, though they were alone in the dropships troop bay. "If you want to know a secret...so am I."

DeSenta snorted in a very unladylike fashion. "You look so calm though!"

Schweiger nodded. "I have to. It wouldn't do at all for the command staff to let everyone know they're just as frightened as everyone else. We have to be unflappable in the face of anything; that way, our crews and soldiers are reassured that somebody has a plan."

The dropship swooped suddenly and alarms blared in the troop bay, ruining the mood and causing DeSenta to gasp in terror, too scared to even scream.

"Sorry for the turbulence, folks," the pilot announced over the intercom. "Just had to avoid a real furball. ETA to _Myrmidon_ sixty seconds."

"Furball?" DeSenta inquired, looking to her companion for the answer.

"I'd say our drones got into a scrap with alien fighters and we had to take a detour," Schweiger responded, leaning back into his seat, heart racing.

"Wilhelm," his CNI reciever spoke to him, seeming to be a thought of his own but taking Preston Cole's voice. "The Covenant are holding a position in orbit; they're not attacking us any more, just defending their position. The other fleet has formed up a couple hundred thousand clicks out and are holding that position too."

"I'll be using this opportunity to regroup at point Theta Nine," Cole continued. "I'm going to order an alpha strike on the fleet in orbit once we're able, we'll hit them with everything we've got while they're sitting ducks."

"Understood," Schweiger responded. "What do we know about this new behaviour?"

"Very little," Cole admitted. "We're assuming that the Covenant want something bad, something within the Forerunner facility under Mount Hieronymus. It doesn't look like we'll be able to stop them from reaching whatever objective they have in mind."

"Once we've dealt with the ships still in orbit," Preston said, before a long pause and an explosive sigh. "Once they're no longer a factor, I'm going to order a Strategic Orbital Bombardment on the ships already in-atmosphere."


	22. Intermission: Classified Data Packet

This is not the update you are looking for...but there will be one soon enough. I'm planning on deploying Spartans in either the next update or the one after, so I thought I'd give you a brief update now to give you some idea of what they'll be like. Enjoy.

OOOOO

UNITED NATIONS SPACE COMMAND MILITARY INTELLIGENCE DIVISION PRIORITY TRANSMISSION

ENCRYPTION LEVEL: OMEGA

FROM: CODENAME MOTHER HEN

TO: CODENAME SATURN

DATE: MAY 10, 2525

SUBJECT: PROJECT ORION, GEN II STATUS UPDATE

CLASSIFICATION: EYES ONLY, READ AND DESTROY

[MESSAGE BEGINS]

At 0700 hours, May 15 2525, S-II subjects (see Attachment #2) were mated with MJOLNIR Mark IV (see Attachment #1). This marks the final stage of GEN II development. It is the recommendation of I and my staff that the S-IIs be deployed as soon as possible against xeno threat; pre-mating operations against insurgents proved S-II capabilities far above and beyond expected parameters (see Attachment #3).

[MESSAGE ENDS]

ATTACHMENT #1

SUBJECT: MJOLNIR MARK IV POWERED ASSAULT ARMOUR

CLASSIFICATION: EYES ONLY, READ AND DESTROY

Inner components:

**Skinsuit**: Synthetic moisture absorbent material, linked to suits environmental control computer and users nueral interface. Controls temperature and ensures perfect fit.

**Hydrostatic gel layer**: Regulates suit temperature, adjusts density to conform to users shape ensuring perfect fit. Absorbs high G impacts and kinetic energy, allowing users to survive attacks that would otherwise kill them and leave the suit intact.

**Polymerized Lithium Niobocene layer**: Piezoelectric material; deforms along a preferred axis when exposed to an electric charge. Acts as artificial muscle; reactive piezoelectric effect increases strength, reaction time, mobility, speed and all around physical performance of users.

**Pressure seal**: Seals suit against air and water, allowing users to operate in vacuum.

**Titanium-CNT nanocomposite bodysuit**: Strong, lightweight, flexible armour layer. Highly resistant to small arms fire.

**Medical suite**: Onboard medical suite including biofoam injectors, combat stimulants, epinephrine regulators, antibiotics and antivirals. Increases user survivabilty in event of suit breach and user injury.

**Force-multiplying circuits**: Dramatically increases force applied by users. Enhances hand-to-hand combat capabilities.

**Reactive circuits**: Allows direct link between armour and users neural interface. Amplifies users reaction time by connecting directly to the thoughts of the user.

**Lock-down system**: Protects muscles and joints from high-impact injuries. Seizes suit into rigid posture via modification of hydrostatic gel density.

Outer Components:

**Integrated Communications Helmet: **Titanium-CNT-Coltan nanocomposite helmet with Kleersteel nanocomposite visor. Extreme resistance to small arms fire. Integrated heads-up display capable of identifying and displaying information about equipment, weapons and ammunition. Dual-intake UV/HEPA filters; traps particulates as small as 700nm, kills biological agents and neutralizes most known chemical agents.

Rebreather unit for oxygen supply during EVA assignments. Thermal and motion sensors, night-vision, mass detectors, EM detectors, communications suite, imaging and video recording gear built in as standard. Neural interface system allows users to utilise suit by throught alone.

**Titanium-CNT-Coltan Nanocomposite Alloy Shell: **Outer armour layer consisting of torso plating, full-leg greaves, gauntlets, shoulder pauldrons (integrated directional sensors housed within). Extreme resistance to small arms fire; moderate resistance to light anti-material weapons.

Integrated directional sensors armoured with shoulder pauldrons and connected to external armour plating and nanocomposite bodysuit allows users to quickly identify threats by displaying tracking information from incoming fire. Users paired with AIs are able to identify and track projectiles back to their source, even when not struck by them.

**Memory Processor Superconductor layer: **Starship grade AI housing system. Users paired with AIs experience increased performance in combat and are able to perform duties outside their set training, including software intrusion, hardware hacking and espionage.

**Magnetic Holster System: **Powerful magnetic strips located at legs, waist and back of suit allows user to carry weapons, ammunition and equipment without need of BDUs. Includes electromagnetic strips contained in MJOLNIR boots, allowing users to attach to magnetic surfaces during Zero G operations. Can be toggled on and off by user via nueral interface.

**Power Plant: **Provides power to all components of MJOLNIR. Consists of microfusion reactor, nano-wire/ultracapacitor battery packs for emergency situations.

**Electromagnetic Defence Field System: **Generates powerful, sustained EM field around user. Able to affect incoming projectiles to some degree, bending shots that would otherwise be glancing hits around the user. Potentially resistant to xeno infantry plasma weaponry.

**Power Supply Control Unit: **Controls flow of power throughout suit.

**Failsafe Detonation System: **Self-destruct mechanism. Activated by codes known only to S-II operatives. Prevents capture of armour and/or S-II operatives by hostile forces. Ten meter blast radius.

ATTACHMENT #2

SUBJECT: S-II AUGMENTATIONS

CLASSIFICATION: EYES ONLY, READ AND DESTROY

**Occipital Capillary Reversal: **Surgical enhancement of occipital lobe. Reverses direction of blood flow in each capillary to boost the blood flow beneath the rods and cones of subject's retina, resulting in dramatic visual perception increase.

**Carbide Ceramic Ossification: ** Advanced carbide ceramic material is grafted onto the skeletal structure to begin skeletal ossification. Advanced medicinals used to make up for white blood cell necrosis allowing us to surpass previous procedures total bone mass maximum of 3% to 11%. Bones are made virtually unbreakable. Advanced synthetic growth hormones dramatically increase bone density of unaugmented bones.

**Catalytic Thyroid Implant: **Platinum containing synthetic growth hormones pellet implanted in left thyroid gland. Dramatically increases growth of skeletal and muscle tissues. Stimulates growth of fast and slow twitch muscle fibres, producing significant gains in muscle mass. Also targets osteoblasts to boost bone tissue formation.

**Muscular Enhancement Procedure: **Protein complex injected intramuscularly, targetting muscle intracellular molecular machinery, dramatically increasing muscle strength and endurance. Increased density of connective tissues and fibres, decreases lactase recovery time.

Surgical weaving of Carbon Nanotube based synthetic muscle fibre into muscle groups and tendons, resulting in extreme increase in subject strength. Coupled with MJOLNIR's PLN synthetic muscle, grants user ability to literally toss light vehicles aside.

**Superconducting Fibrification of Neural Dendrites: **Alteration of bioeletrical nerve transduction to shielded electronic transduction. Approximate 300% increase in subject reflexes. Anecdotal evidence of marked increase in intelligence, memory, and creativity.

**Gene Therapy Procedures: **Experimental gene therapies dramatically increase subjects immune system function, resulting in extreme resilience to most pathogens. Dramatically boosts subjects metabolism, resulting in approximate 650% increase to injury recovery time and extreme resistance to most drug cocktails (medicinal drugs must be administered in doses considered lethal to baseline subjects to be effective).

ATTACHMENT #3

SUBJECT: RECOMMENDATION FOR DEPLOYMENT BASED ON PRE-MATE PERFORMANCE

CLASSIFICATION: EYES ONLY, READ AND DESTROY

As of 0313 hours (Eridanus Local Time) March 24, 2525, Operation False Prophet was met with resounding success; a critical insurgent leader was captured, approximately 450 insurgents killed, major insurgent base destroyed and approximately 5-7 insurgent warships destroyed.

S-II Blue Team (four operatives) successfully infiltrated Insurrectionist base and commenced egress when Insurgent Leader (hereby referred to as Prophet) activated a neural interface that he was not previously known to possess, bringing the base to alert. Blue Team proved to be overhwelming force despite being outnumbered approximately 100 to 1, with only Sierra 117 suffering a wound to the left side from anti-material rifle (most likely SRS99 S1-AM rifle).

Upon securing transport from the base, Sierra-117 ordered detonation of Fury Tactical Nuclear warhead planted by Sierra-104 during course of the mission, resulting in total destruction of Insurrectionist base and docked insurgent warships.

Based on this performance and the increase in combat capability observed upon mating with MJOLNIR, we recommend immediate deployment of S-II operatives to meet xeno threat. Chances of retrieving intact technology and live capture of alien leadership expected to increase exponentially with appropriate deployment.


	23. The Siege Of Harvest, Part Two

**_Marathon-_class cruiser Mark II _Defiant Warrior_**

**Bridge**

The _Warrior_ shuddered violently as a Covenant fighter slammed into its mangled portside armour and an alarm staring blaring as the hull was breached by the collision. Captain Davian's brows furrowed together as he studied the TAC display; he was surrounded, again, by Covenant ships that had been slipping into the edge of the system and targeting the Outer Supply Platforms.

OSP 8 had been destroyed by the time his battle group had arrived via slip-space micro-jump and a dozen Covenant destroyers had immediately descended on his beleaguered forces. A million kilometres away and closing fast, a quartet of alien cruisers cut through the void at breakneck pace, moving to support the destroyer group that Davians forces were trading fire with.

"Plasma torpedoes inbound; counter-missile ordinance depleted, brace for evasive maneuvers," Paladin's voice rang throughout the ship seconds before the multi-million tonne bulk of the cruiser lurched out of the way of a trio of torpedoes, narrowly avoiding a direct hit against its ravaged portside armour belt and throwing crew and any equipment not bolted down around like the discarded toys of a petulant god-child.

Most of the bridge crew was strapped into their seats and was thus saved from any serious injuries, but more than one crew member headbutted their displays. The _Warrior_ fired it's two remaining dorsal PACs in response, popping the shield of an enemy destroyer like a balloon and saturating the offending ship with heavy rail-gun rounds until it stopped moving under its own power.

"Multiple slip-space ruptures detected," Paladin reported grimly. "Sensors indicate multiple hostile battle-cruisers and carriers slipping in approximately five hundred thousand kilometres out-system."

Davian cursed out loud and shook his head. The TAC display was registering more hostile contacts with each passing moment and his rapidly dwindling battlegroup was not going to be able to maintain this fight against the forces already arrayed against him. Battle-cruisers and carriers were just overkill.

"All ships capable of doing so are to transition to slip-space as soon as possible," he ordered, his voice coming out as a hoarse, bitter croak. "Lay in course for Attero system; Paladin, inform Admiral Cole that we're unable to maintain our position and that he's about to get a whole lot of company."

"Aye, sir. Orders sent, message on its way to Admiral Cole," Paladin responded as the Warrior's twin MACs fired in rapid succession. "Slip-space transition in twenty seconds."

Attero was a good choice; though not the closest colony to Harvest, it was well fortified and home to three shipyards, making repairs to his battlegroup much easier. He didn't like leaving this fight, but there was little his ships could do in their current state.

"Admiral Cole acknowledges and condones your withdrawal," Paladin reported as the Warrior shuddered faintly from the recoil of a massed rail-gun salvo. Davian scowled at the TAC display, wishing he could do more. The most powerful production-model ship in existence and he was still powerless to stop the Covenant.

"Slip-space transition in five seconds."

A swirling pool of Cherenkov radiation burst into being in front of the cruiser, followed by several more as the remaining Mark I cruiser and handful of destroyers slipped into fourth-dimensional space and left the Covenant fleet - and Harvest - behind.

"Good luck," Davian whispered to himself, eyes fixed on the TAC display as the battlefield dissolved around him to be replaced with the slip-stream, watching the icons for Admiral Cole's fleet and the alien one before they faded away.

OOOOO

**Harvest, Surface**

**Mount Hieronymous**

**Forerunner facility**

Covenant in the chamber behind them. Covenant at the mouth of the tunnel ahead of them, wiping out the temporary base there and forcing dozens of Marines and ODSTs to retreat and join up with the people running from the chamber.

_This is it_, Weeks thought as he nervously checked over his SAW. _This is how I'm going to die, trapped in a tunnel and surrounded by monsters_.

One of the tanks fired its cannnon's up at the top-side entrance, fully two kilometres away, presumably covering the retreat of UNSC personnel from whatever was up there.

"This is Colonel Mokena," Weeks' helmet spoke to him ."Alien forces have slipped past our orbital defences; their ships are descending on the colony as we speak. We've lost access to nuclear ordnance and we are on our own until the fleet gets their shit together upstairs."

Weeks swallowed thickly in frightened anticipation. He really was going to die here, it seemed. If that was the case, he was going down swinging.

"Well," a Marine whose IFF tagged her as Savita Farid said, surprisingly chipper. "Looks like we're about to get screwed and the bastards aren't even gonna buy us dinner first."

That bought a few half-hearted chuckles from other Marines, but Weeks just nodded dumbly as the vehicles arranged themselves hull-down, half facing toop-side, half facing the chamber below. Marines set themselves up in positions of cover behind the reassuring armoured bulk of the tanks and IFVs, coordinating with other fireteams to set up overlapping fields of fire.

Marines and ODSTs from top-side began filling in the gaps, bringing with them the welcome sight of three Automated Sentry Guns and five of the Elephant's remaining Automated Defence Drones.

Among these newcomers, an IFF tag identified Colonel Ibrahim Mokena, a hulking mountain of a man with deep mahogany skin, jaw firmly set in grim determination. He held in his massive paws an M502 SAW, and looked like he was intimately familiar with its use.

"Ears," Mokena rumbled, and every Marine present looked to the big man. "Alright, here's the sitch. We've got split-lips up top, no doubt heading down here to introduce us to our ancestors. We've got more of the bastards down below, itching for payback for the bloody nose we gave them."

"We call that being between a rock and a hard place. We've got no point of egress, we're surrounded and we're outnumbered. None of that means dick, Marines. If we die here today, we're taking ten times our number of those ugly mothers with us. We shoot them 'til we're out of ammo, then we beat them 'til our rifles are bloody and broken and then we kick their asses with our fists and feet."

Weeks swallowed thickly as the Colonel paused, looking each of the assembled men and women in the eye in turn. Mokena locked gazes with him for a moment, gave him a barely-there nod of reassurance.

"What do you say to that, Marines!?" Mokena finally bellowed.

"Ooh-rah!" The Marines roared back.

"What was that? I can't fucking hear you!" Mokena shouted, spittle flying from his lips and fire in his eyes.

"OOH-RAH! OOH-RAH! OOH-RAH!"

The Marines chanted their war-cry at the top of their lungs, Mokena nodding in satisfaction and joining in, raising his SAW above his head in one hand.

"Defensive positions!" Mokena shouted above the rabble. "Marksmen, pick your targets and fire as they come! Only shoot at what you know you can hit! Suits, rotate suppressive fire in groups! Two firing, two cooling off or reloading! Vehicles, spray as you like at infantry but reserve ammo for vehicles! Do your jobs and get ready to rain hell, Marines!"

Weeks shuffled through the seething masses of bloodthirsty Marines, finding cover behind a damaged IFV facing up-slope, slotting himself in beside an ODST toting a rail-gun. The silver face-plate nodded at him as he set up the SAWs bipod across a couple of sandbags resting against the edge of the vehicle's hull.

A small, tracked Automated Defence Drone jolted to a stop a few feet from Weeks, it's 7.62mm machine gun clicking as it ran pre-combat diagnostics on its autoloader. Weeks glanced at it as it's weapon traversed back and forth, up and down before settling into a central position.

"Heads up, people," one of the tankers announced over the com-link. "Sensor package is picking up hostiles advancing from both directions; looks like they're coordinating. Get ready to deliver an ass-kicking, Marines."

Marksmen settled themselves into firing positions, arming their rail-guns and yanking the charging handles on their DMRs; they had the longest effective range and thus would be the first to engage the Covenant.

"Looks like infantry only from below, got a couple of recon bikes accompanying infantry up top," the tanker reported. "Engaging recon bikes!"

A second later, one of the Devastators fired its main guns in sequence, the deafening whine of the coil-guns echoing strangely off of the tunnel walls as a wash of heat from the passing of the rounds spread over Weeks. In the distance up-slope, twin blue-tinged explosions roared to life.

Moments after, those marksmen with rail-guns opened fired, taking carefully aimed shots and quietly calling out kills. The guns gave off a distinctive whine-crack sound as they fired, which also returned odd sounding echoes. The ODST beside Weeks chuckled as his weapon recoiled against his shoulder and an alien lost his head.

Automatics started chattering behind Weeks as the aliens from the chamber end of the tunnel entered optimal range for assault rifles; plasma bolts whizzed up at the Marines in return, most splashing harmlessly against the armoured vehicles.

A few moments later, rifles began firing short bursts at the rapidly approaching Covenant infantry up-slope. Weeks' mouth went dry as he sighted his SAW; a seething mass of Grunts lead the charge, galloping toward the entrenched humans and screaming alien warcries.

Those that fell to the deadly accurate Marine fire were simply trampled under the stampeding aliens. Plasma started whining back down at the humans as shorter ranged weapons opened fire. Weeks' SAW hammered against his shoulder as he loosed a burst that cut a line through a handful of Grunts.

The chattering of rifles firing in bursts was suddenly washed away by the roar of men and women cutting loose on full-auto; the little creatures were disturbingly fast when running on all fours and were closing distance rapidly. On top of that, there were so many of them that it was virtually impossible to miss.

IFV's fired their auto-cannons in sweeping arcs, devastating the advance and causing the hordes to slow to a crawl as they tried to scrambled over their dead and dying to get at the humans. Explosions rocked the encroaching tide as the Cyclops battle-suits pumped HE grenades into their midst.

Down-slope, the situation was somewhat less desperate. The enemy numbered fewer on that side and were taking a more cautious approach, trying to use destroyed vehicles as cover and sending their shielded walkers ahead to absorb fire. Human tanks shattered the walkers as they began sweeping energy beams over the lines of Marines, boiling away armour plating on vehicles and setting people alight. Men and women screamed as they burned alive, the sickly-sweet smell of burning human flesh lingering over the other humans.

Weeks flinched away from the edge of the IFV he was taking cover behind as plasma scored it's armour and molten metal splashed away from it. Marines began taking more carefully aimed shots as aliens clambered over the mountain of dead now blocking the tunnel, picking them off as they crested the "summit".

"Keep it up!" Mokena's voice crackled over the cacophony. "Plug the bastards up!"

Weeks gritted his teeth in anxiety as he fired a twenty round burst at a trio of Grunts sliding down the corpse barricade. He swept the SAW a cross the corpses, seeking movement and finding none; the chatter of small arms fire died away as new targets failed to present themselves.

"Looks like they're backing off," Mokena said. "Ammo check, people. If you need to reload, do it now! They'll be back before you know it."

OOOOO

**UNSC _End Of Innocence_**

**Modified _Demetrius_-class Destroyer**

**Epsilon Indi System**

The destroyer slotted itself in between Admiral Cole's flagship and a Mark I_ Marathon_, it's pitch-black hull reflecting the light of the local star. No doubt, the sight of this particular ship was met with plenty of groans of distaste; beneath the letters UNSC were emblazoned the letters ONI.

A spook ship arriving in a system that was likely to be abandoned couldn't possibly be a good sign. Cole certainly didn't like the look of it. He could take a guess as to what ONI was after here, and he had a feeling they were going to ask him to lay down a lot of lives on a lost cause because of it.

Imagine his surprise when he was told to stay out of their way.

"We have two objectives, Admiral," Daphne Grayson, acting captain of the spook ship, announced to Cole via private link. "The first is obvious, but seemingly unobtainable."

"Whatever the aliens want from Mount Hieronymus," Cole surmised.

"Correct," Grayson said. "Our second is a little more obscure. Section Two had a modest research facility hidden within Utgard, beneath the City Hall, to be exact. Some of the research carried out here could prove critical to our war efforts against the Covenant and I've been informed that it is imperative that I retrieve any and all material within the facility by any means necessary."

"And you want to use my Marines to do it," Cole replied, trying to think of a way to say no without actually saying no. "I can't spare the people. Anyone not engaging Covenant forces is being evacuated from the surface. We're going to level Mount Hieronymus to ensure the Covenant don't achieve their objective and then we're withdrawing from Harvest. We cannot hold her and I'm not going waste lives and ships trying to."

"Actually, Admiral, you can carry on with your evacuations," Grayson said, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "We don't need your Marines. We brought our own specialists; all I need from you is to keep your people out of the way of my people."

Coles brow furrowed in confusion, but he nodded his head in agreement anyway. The Covenant had a presence in Utgard for unknown reasons, most likely search and destroy teams, and though it wasn't exactly an army there were still unknown thousands aliens roaming the city. Grayson's "specialists" would have their work cut out for them.

"Alright," Cole said. "But if you take too long, the fleet will leave you behind. I'm not going to wait around for you and your specialists if it comes down to a choice between the safety of the fleet and the safety of your ship."

"Understood," Grayson said. "Thank you, Admiral Cole. And don't worry. This shouldn't take long at all."

Grayson cut the link from her end and her destroyer shot away from the safety of the shadow of the two cruisers, coming to a rest directly above Utgard. A few moments later, eight Single-Occupant Human Entry Vehicles detached from the ship and dropped into Harvest's atmosphere.

Cole observed the whole process from his flagship. He shook his head almost imperceptibly. What chance did eight people stand against a city full of monsters?

OOOOO

**SOHEV 19-56**

**Harvest Atmosphere**

It took some getting used to. He'd been a force to be reckoned with before he'd been mated with his suit; now people threw around words like "unstoppable" and "juggernaut".

Malcolm-059 was a product of his time. The UNSC had been growing desperate and wanted a lasting solution to the Insurrection problem. He and his brothers and sisters had been intended to be that solution. Now they were going into battle, not against their intended foe but against an alien menace that had reared its head just in time for he and his fellow Spartan-IIs to stomp it into the ground.

That's what he'd been told, at least. In reality, his insides were aflutter with nerves. He winked his acknowledgement light to the rest of his team and received three lights in return; Keiichi-047, Isaac-039 and Daisy-023 letting him know they were still there and ready to back him up.

He winked his light to the other team and immediately received a response from the other four Spartans; James-005, Joseph-122, Victor-101 and Carris-137. All there, all ready to go. Team Alpha, Malcolm's team, was going to drop in on the South side of City Hall and make their way to the objective with all due haste. Bravo, led by Victor, would be doing the same from the North.

Malcolm's SOHEV shuddered as it passed through some turbulence. His altimeter wound down quickly; at three thousand meters the SOHEV deployed air brakes. At two thousand, attitude thrusters corrected his course so that he'd land exactly where he wanted to. At one thousand, the air brakes disengaged and ripped off the SOHEV, and a carbon nanotube lattice parachute deployed.

His pod slammed into the ground, the explosive bolts on the door detonated and flung 160 kilos of steel and ceramic away from him as he grabbed his rifle from its mooring by the door and leapt outside, rolling to a crouch and shouldering the rifle, scanning for threats.

He'd landed in the middle of a two-way street, surrounded by tall buildings on both sides. Threat-tracking software highlighted ideal spots for sharpshooters to roost on his visor. There were too many, but he wasn't coming under fire and after an entry like that, he'd have to assume that if anyone was in a position to investigate, they would have by now.

Malcolm stood, still scanning his surroundings, and sought out the IFF tags of his teammates. Keiichi was closest, a little over two hundred meters away. He still puzzled over that. They'd been sent in as a team, but had been set up to land separated from one another and had been ordered to rendezvous at a point a quarter kilometer from the objective.

_Another test,_ he thought to himself._ They still don't know how most of us will perform in real combat yet, so they're using this opportunity to test us._

It didn't matter. They'd pass the test. Just like they'd passed every other test ONI had thrown at them.

Malcolm stood and began making his way down the street, moving quickly from cover to cover, his threat-tracking software constantly high-lighting new potential sniper roosts. Urban warfare. Malcolm hated it. Too many places to hide.

He glanced at his rifle as he moved and specs ran through his mind instantly. XMA20 experimental assault rifle. 32 round detachable magazine. 6.8mm discarding sabot rounds. 700 rounds per minute. Muzzle velocity, 2218 meters per second.

Thing of beauty. Excellent all-rounder. He'd fallen in love with it the moment he first held it. He'd modified his with a holographic reflex sight, an under-slung 30mm smart grenade launcher and a muzzle break. Couldn't wait to try it out.

Malcolm hunkered down behind a car, ever observant of his surroundings despite his threat-tracker. Never rely too heavily on tech. He was surprised out how untouched the city seemed so far; the briefing packet had said there'd been heavy fighting between UNSC Marines and the Covenant in Utgard, but he'd seen little evidence of it so far.

His threat-tracker bleeped at him. Movement. Something big, heading his way from the East, opposite side of the building he was on. Malcolm moved on, quickly and quietly. Best to avoid contact as much as possible for now.

He sidestepped off the street and into a building on the West side of the street, made his way through a handful of ground-floor rooms before exiting into an alleyway and moving onto the next building. At least he wasn't sniper bait indoors.

The next building's alleyway access door was locked from the inside, the door quarter-inch plate steel set in concrete. Must have been something important here before the Covenant came. Malcolm ripped the door from its hinges and entered the building. Looked like a bank.

His ears pricked up has he heard the soft shuffle of booted feet across marble floors. This building was occupied. He spent a quarter-second debating what to do before the decision was made for him; the contact his tracker had picked up earlier was coming this way. He pressed on into the abandoned bank. If he was going to be sandwiched between two hostile forces, he may as well be heading toward his objective when it happened.

Alien voices chattered and warbled ahead; the threat-tracker logged the sounds and pinpointed the locations of the aliens for him, tagging them with an inverted triangle. Five targets, other side of the wall, in the lobby. The big one behind him was getting closer. Now or never.

Malcolm sprang forward, shattering his way through the wall, rifle shouldered, taking the aliens completely by surprise. Two were down to a burst from his rifle before he was even completely through the wall. Another one turned in time to take a round to the face.

Something snapped and hissed at him and a blue blade of searing heat swept toward him. He ducked under it easily and came up with his left fist raised in an uppercut that broke his attacker's neck and shattered its skull.

Another blade jabbed at his mid-section and he whirled out of the way, grabbed the arm holding the energy sword and rammed his palm into the elbow. Bone splintered instantly and the big alien warbled in agony as Malcolm spun around behind it, still holding its useless arm. Malcolm pitched forward, flipping the alien over his back and slamming it into the ground hard enough to crack the marble before driving his fist straight down and crushing its throat.

He stood and surveyed the damage. Five dead aliens. He was unscathed. The big target was moving much more quickly now, and his sharp hearing picked up the thunder of massive, booted feet. Time to go.

Malcolm turned and sprinted across the lobby, shouldered his way through the ballistic glass and out into the street. He crossed the road in the blink of an eye, ramming his way through another door into an apartment complex. He hooked a sharp left, his boots digging into the ground and cracking the floor from the force of his turn. He was going upstairs, planning to stick to the rooftops. He could move quicker that way.

He was on the fifteenth floor landing when he heard movement above him; a door slamming open, the bustle of many feet coming down. On the seventeenth floor landing he barged his way through the door and onto the seventeenth floor proper. He'd made it less than three steps when an apartment door flung open further down the hall and a big alien – Marines were calling them Elites now – emerged, firing at Malcolm.

Malcolm leapt straight up, smashing through the ceiling and landing on the eighteenth floor, still moving forward. He was nearly at the end of the hallway when he heard the door to the stairway open and alien voices calling out. Plasma chased him, nipping at his heels.

He turned sideways, shoulder first and leaped forward, smashing through the brick wall. He caught a brief glimpse of an alleyway below before thundering through another brick wall and rolling to his feet on the eighteenth floor of another apartment building.

"Heads up, Alpha," Malcolm spoke into his com-link. "I'm blown. Continue with mission. I'll lose my tail and RV."

Three acknowledgement lights winked at him as he reached the staircase and continued up. He made it two floors before seeing more Covenant. Three Grunts and an Elite. The Grunts went down easy, a single round to the head each. The Elite took a couple of hits before ducking into an apartment. Malcolm ducked into the apartment next door, planning on bursting through the wall and taking the Elite by surprise.

The Elite thought of it first, though, and tackled Malcolm through the wall, tipping him backwards. The alien landed on top of Malcolm in a position of leverage, and Malcolm was looking down the barrel of a plasma rifle before he knew it.

Malcolm bucked hard and twisted, throwing the Elite off of him and across the living room. He flipped to his feet as the now familiar snap-hiss of an activating energy sword reached his ears. It hadn't come from the Elite he'd tossed, though. It had come from the doorway to the apartment he was wrecking.

A camera in the back of his helmet showed a PIP display of a pair of Elites coming through the door, one holding an active energy sword, the other bringing his to life as he entered the apartment. The one Malcolm had tossed climbed to his feet, his own blade activating as he stood.

Malcolm's rifle lay on the floor in the middle of the room. The aliens moved to surround him, one placing itself between him and his weapon. He drew his combat knife, a nine-inch carbon-kevlar blade, and dropped into a ready stance. The first blade came from behind, as he knew it would, and he ducked and spun as a second blade swiped at him.

He came up knife first, narrowly missed the nearest Elites jugular and gouged a hunk of flesh out of its neck. It grunted as the third blade swung down in an attempt to lop off Malcolm's arm. He pulled back, leaning backwards and placing his free hand on the floor, kicked off with his feet and twirled around to land on his feet facing the first Elite.

He grabbed the Elite's sword arm, trapping it, and drove his knife up under its jaw, penetrating the roof of its mouth and piercing the top of its skull. He yanked the blade free and whirled away as the second Elite swiped at him, cleaving the dead Elite in two before it had the chance to fall.

Malcolm jabbed his fist into the second Elites ribcage, felt bone shatter, jabbed again with his knife hand. The blade slid through ruined bones and into where Malcolm guessed the heart would be. The Elite gasped and collapsed instantly.

The third alien roared and charged; Malcolm rocked back away from his fresh kill and his left leg flashed up in a front kick that crushed the charging Elites chest and shattered its spine, killing it instantly.

Malcolm wiped the blue-black blood off of his knife and retrieved his rifle, giving it a quick once-over to make sure it was still in working order. His tracker pinged as he left the room. Something big, coming from the stair-case. He turned toward the door to the stairs and raised his rifle.

The door flung from its hinges and great, hairy thing hunched through the doorway into the hall. Its head brushed the roof as it glared down the length of the hall at him, baring its teeth. It was like some kind of massive gorilla with a gun. And what a gun!

It was huge, but seemed suitably sized for the simian creature. The bandolier across its chest seemed to hold grenades, which was presumably what its weapon fired; muzzle size seemed right. The weapon had no stock to speak of, just a two foot blade with a wicked curve.

It took a step toward Malcolm and he fired a three round burst on reflex, centre-mass. The rounds punched into thickly matted fur and slabs of dense muscle and blood ejected from the trio of wounds, but other than that the alien seemed unaffected.

It raised its weapon and fired; Malcolm launched himself sideways back into the apartment he'd come from as two grenades detonated in the hall, spraying the walls with shrapnel. He heard a roar and the thunder of feet charging down the hall, felt the vibration through the floor.

Malcolm ducked into the next apartment, popped out into the hallway and fired a five round burst at the aliens head. It wore a simple alloy helmet that was little more than a skull-cap, but it afforded enough protection that the rounds didn't penetrate its skull. It was on him before he could fire again, swinging a meaty paw at his head. He ducked and rolled away, a chunk of wall tearing away where he'd been. He came up and fired a burst into its back, but again the alien seemed to shrug off the wounds and turned around, blade flashing.

Malcolm leaped back, sighting up on its chest as he did so and emptied the remainder of his magazine full-auto, tearing the alien's breast to ribbons. It shuddered under the assault and roared in pain and rage as the rifle clicked empty. It charged then.

Its shoulder connected with Malcolm's side as he tried to dodge, the sheer size of the thing leaving him with nowhere to go. He slammed through the wall and back into another apartment.

The ape turned, followed him into the apartment and swung its huge fist again, flinging its gun to the side as it did so. Malcolm ducked the fist, came up swinging his own, connected with the beast's belly. It let out a wheezing grunt as his fist drove the air from its lungs, swung its other fist.

Malcolm dodged that, jabbed with his left, clacking the aliens jaws together. He danced away and sent a round-house kick to the brute's right side, felt ribs crack under the force. The ape gibbered in rage and began swinging its arms wildly.

_What the hell is this thing made of?_, Malcolm thought. It felt like he'd punched starship armour.

An arm connected with the side of Malcolm's head and sent him stumbling. He backpedalled quickly and freed his secondary from its holster, an X12 stacked projectile hand gun consisting of four barrels, each with ten rounds stacked inside. The alien had gone mad and didn't even seem to be aware of him anymore; it was simply trashing everything that got in its way.

Malcolm drew as good a bead as he could and squeezed the trigger, emptying all forty rounds in an eye-blink. The alien roared and charged blindly at Malcolm. The Spartan swayed aside and let the beast skid past, crashing through the apartment wall and out into the open air beyond to fall twenty-one stories, hopefully to its death. It screamed in rage the whole way down.

Malcolm collected and reloaded his weapons before heading back out into the hall. He could hear hurried footsteps from the stairwell. He glanced back the other way, eyeing the elevator. It might be worthwhile using the shaft as a point of egress; he could forget about using the rooftops to quickly reach his destination since if the Covenant were even half competent they'd have air support looking out for him by now.

He turned and ran as the first Grunt exploded from the stairwell and fired a hail of pink needles after him. Another joined it and plasma flowed too. The elevator door opened as he neared and another of the simian aliens charged out. Malcolm leaned back as he ran, dropping onto his backside and sliding forward, firing full-auto at the alien as he did.

He passed between its legs and it dropped to the ground in its hasty attempt to turn after him. Malcolm's feet contacted the back of the elevator and he sprang upright, leaping straight up and through the escape hatch immediately as the elevator filled with plasma and crystalline needles.

He aimed down at the elevator floor with his rifle, set his smart-launcher to contact detonate and removed the safety. He fired, blowing a hole in the floor just big enough for him to fit through. He dropped down, arms tucked in and fell through the elevator, reaching out to grab the cable as he dropped through the floor.

Hand over hand, he made rapid progress down. He'd made it six floors when the cable went slack and he swung into the wall of the shaft. A glance up told him the elevator was coming down, far too quickly. Malcolm dropped.

He dug his hands and heels into the shaft wall to control his descent, but the elevator was gaining. He made it another seven floors before letting go of the wall and free-falling, the elevator a second behind him. He hit the ground floor of the shaft, hard enough to rattle his teeth, and recoiled away, legs working like they were spring loaded.

He launched into the stainless steel elevator doors, bending them outward as the force of his leap propelled him through. He rolled to his feet as the elevator hit the floor of the shaft behind him, sending a cloud of dust and shrapnel after him. He was already moving, crossing the lobby of the apartment building, bursting out into the street and skidding to cover behind a parked car.

He surveyed his surroundings quickly before launching off again. He was aiming to put as much distance between him and his pursuers as possible now, and beat feet far faster than any Olympian ever had.

He was three city blocks away from the apartment complex when he ducked into an alleyway and relaxed a tiny fraction. If they were chasing him, he was pretty confident that they'd been unable to keep up and lost him.

"Status, Alpha," Malcolm queried his team.

"One minute," Keiichi answered first.

"Two," Daisy said.

"One," Isaac acknowledged.

"ETA four," Malcolm responded after consulting his tac-map. "Tail lost."

Three acknowledgement lights winked.


End file.
